how would everyone(her family, kilorn, cal, farley, maven etc) react if mare was pregnant after kc with mavens kid
hmm . . . I assume you mean an au where she couldn't terminate the pregnancy for whatever reason bc honestly if she could she would do so quickly and quietly and very much try to never speak of it again. In that case:
Gisa: Absolute rage, not at Mare, but the man who did this to her. Mare would have to talk her down from trying to storm the palace herself. Rest of the family would be very similar, with the exception of Ruth, who sits down next to her and holds her hand until Mare starts to cry.
Kilorn: Mostly stunned and trying to piece together how that would even happen. When the shock wears off, he tries to just act like normal and let her figure it out by herself
Cal: Thinks it's his at first and absolutely panicking thinking about what Larentia and Volo are going to do to it since it would be a rival heir for Evangeline's children. When he learns it's his brother's, he tries to sit Mare down to talk about it and is completely stonewalled. He then tries to discuss it through Davidson and he not so subtly implies the only way to keep that child safe is to give up the crown. It doesn't work, but it seriously shakes him.
Farley: The only one Mare is willing to really talk to about it with, and the first one to learn. She is the one to connect the timeline and realize it's Maven's, upon which she hugs her and lets her know she's there for her.
Maven: Completely stunned to the point he can't even properly make jabs about it. Is even more acidic to Iris and her mother in the aftermath and low key kinda caught between wanting to completely get rid of it and . . . not do that.
This one was so hard to answer I had to completely redo it at some point and I don't even think I did it well ugh
A/N: Finally, it is done. Hope you like it. It’s implied in the text but to make it clear from the start, this takes place about 4,5 years after War Storm/Broken Throne. Light smut ensues.
It was pure instinct that made her jump over the root before stumbling. Farley realized it only in passing hindsight, just in time to prepare for the next root. Her heart raced; fear sweat broke out on her back as she thought on what a Silver greeny tracker could do with the roots – with her. She wanted to run faster, despite her body weakened from weeks in lakelander captivity and all the obstacles in the path. The darkness deepening in the twilight forest with its roots, uneven ground, frequent stones and her thin slippers unsuitable for of all of that. She panted in exasperation. The general called Huntress had become a hunted – an irony she’d chewed on throughout her whole captivity.
She couldn’t stop, had to get away with the chance given her by Scarlet Guard operatives before the Cygnets and their lackeys caught up on her – speed and cunning were essential. But she was on their terrain, a favoured park on the way to a palace where Princess Iris expected to interrogate Farley.
Or so she’d thought. Yet her planning retorts to her captor suddenly had to change to escape tactics. Maybe her due reward for slightly hoping to be ransomed at the meeting – even a highly ranked general like Farley wasn’t worth paying every price for to the Guard; perhaps her talents were precisely why better was expected of her.
That would just smell of the colonel, she concluded. She snorted and gasped as she leaped over another hole in the track.
She considered eschewing the paths completely but her trail would stay visible as much if she went through the bushes growing in patterns deceptively wild. The path and the surrounding woods seemed so peaceful, quiet apart from the birdsongs. Well, that was a relief, to not hear from any trackers yet. They shouldn’t even know she was gone at this point. From the map her helper had showed her briefly, she couldn’t be far from the river where a boat waited for her. For now, she didn’t hear the water’s waves.
A part of her was flustered at the idea of travelling water when a Cygnet could be near. Now her pulse throbbed louder and louder in her ears, dimming the sounds of the landscape along with her ragged breaths. She couldn’t keep up this pace for much longer but she accelerated for a last sprint. The next slope, she’d risk to throw herself down and roll off to gain a few precious seconds. She jumped.
The impact hurt, still, but that pain she could deal with. Harder it was to get up at all, making her rue the stupid move. She wasn’t thinking straight. She rose with a groan, biting her lips raw until she reached the denser trees she’d seen on the map and which promised the river mere meters away –
Stepping into the boat and starting its motor came almost close to a loved one’s – Clara’s! – embrace.
The boat trip was a well-needed break still dominated by creeping anxiety. Farley’s fingers tapped nervously, her legs shivered from exhaustion, cold, and hunger. Her prison clothes weren’t made to withstand a spring night outside. Too bad she was alone on the boat, unable to hide and leave another to steer. At least the area grew somewhat familiar; she could navigate through difficult and into defensive spots, right into the bog in a forest close by.
She didn’t like to step off there; because she feared what a nymph could do with a bog, but also for the reason why the place was familiar, and the memories it woke.
Fingernails cut into palms. She would keep running, wouldn’t she? She had no time for sad memories.
When the river flowed into the bog’s lake, she was ready. She prepared to let the boat sink and dove into the water, to hide her tracks before she’d cross the bog to the village beyond.
Her helper, a Guard operative dressed as a lakelander escort, had not given her detailed instructions. Awed by his mission to free the general, he’d flashed the map to Farley and mentioned some keywords of the plan before wishing her luck as she sneaked out of the running transport.
Farley hoped he’d escape, too, as she shuddered in a ditch. Wet and dirty, her only comfort was to be hidden this way as she waited for another Guard operative to come and save her. It amused her, oddly, to be saved and picked up like this, but she couldn’t run anymore this night, not in her state. She needed a transport and those were – still – rare in this area of the northern Lakelands.
She knew this very well. She’d grown up around here.
Though not in this pretty, newer village. There could be wealthier farmers in possessions of vehicles. She wasn’t sure she was able to steal one but she could look and try at least. Better to move than freeze in the ditch.
It took another five minutes before she’d gathered the strength to rise despite the fresh wave of pain.
Closer to civilisation, she approached slowly and carefully under the traitorous moonlight. It was a different kind of peaceful than the park, apart from more dangers to herself. She’d crawl before someone saw her but she noticed no one, not even lights in the houses. Could she be so lucky to find an empty village?
Reaching a house with an orchard, she made a decision to search for food and maybe clothes as well. She rushed a few paces, then held on to a tree blooming white.
Bloom meant no fruit, she concluded with regret.
The next second, she heard steps.
She shifted against the tree and glimpsed for the person. Ten meters away, there was a woman, moonlight illuminating the curves of her face.
Farley’s heart ached in a way that, in this moment, had nothing to do with escape, fear, or war. She saw a ghost from the past and longed for nothing but to go to her to fall into her arms.
How could she? Her fingers pinched into tree bark. This detour was a mistake, and now the woman came closer while she, Farley, should run –
It was too late. Even though it was but a sigh, she heard Giselle’s whispered “Diana” all too well.
Giselle knocked on the bathroom door, entering after a muttered “’kay”. Inside, she leaned against the door, as if startled by Diana sitting on the edge of the bathtub. She’d known Diana would be here. And yet. It was her demeanour, so unlike from Giselle’s expectations and assumptions. Clad in a borrowed nightgown, Diana barely looked up. She was weary, almost scared, and sunk into herself as if petrified by a weight on her shoulders.
Giselle swallowed, her heart fluttering. Diana resembled the girl from ten years ago but also not – she was the Red General, the huntress of Silvers, the hero of justice. An image full of confidence that Giselle had glimpsed in broadcasts and newspapers, strange and stunning but ultimately leaving an impression superimposing the memories of the girl Giselle had loved.
The Diana in her mind had become both, the same and not the same, a true, yet also warped reflection. The same applied to the woman sitting before her.
Giselle didn’t know her but wanted to. She also doubted she ever could know her. Confused in this storm of emotions, “how?” was the only word she managed to utter.
Diana’s lips moved, her shoulders lifting and sagging again, too exhausted to reply without preparing herself.
“… I … I was captured,” she said at last. “By lakelander soldiers. This night, I’ve escaped during a transfer.” She swallowed, haunted by the memory. Or to give Giselle a moment to let that sink in, a moment Giselle definitely needed. She could only think how that explained the mess Diana was in right now.
“Someone helped me,” Diana went on, “but they could only offer me a chance to run.” She raised a hand to gesture yet soon lowered it again as she began to sway. “So I ran, through the park, to the river. A boat was provided and then I came to the bog.”
“Our bog.” Giselle stated. The words stuck her breath in her throat when Diana looked up and met her eyes for the first time since Giselle joined her in the room.
“Yes,” Diana breathed. Pain burned in her eyes, probably from her recent ordeals, possibly from the meaning of the bog bordering the forest with the lake that grew after the late King Orrec flooded Sieverling, their former home village.
“I found my way through, barely. Thus, I’m glad you let me clean somewhat. I don’t want to bother – endanger – you further. They’ll search for me, my enemies, I mean. My allies too.”
She paused as Giselle sidled away from her post at the door, her skirts swinging, and sat down in front of her. Giselle could feel how Diana drank in her sight and rejoiced in it. Now it was her who captivated Diana with a glance.
“You aren’t a bother,” Giselle said. Diana lifted her eyebrows, but Giselle meant it. It was like fate, a dream, and Diana an apparition on a feast day. It was one, actually, and while her parents and brother went to celebrate with the congregation in the next village, Giselle stayed back to take care of the farm and animals. It’d fitted her to be alone, to avoid Ushio, the woman with whom Giselle didn’t know where she stood.
When she’d seen Diana on the edge of the orchard, under the trees blooming white in the moonlight, she thought Diana wasn’t real at first. She’d been frozen at the sight of her love from the past. She could’ve gone away, doing nothing and leaving Diana to her own devices, like people long divided. But yearning boiled in her blood. So long. It’d been so long, and so often she’d asked herself, what had torn them apart? Diana had been gone like a flash; would she ever return? Giselle hadn’t dared believe it, even more so as she learned of Diana’s shocking career in the Scarlet Guard – until the Red General stood before her and Giselle both wanted to touch her and to scream at her.
That feeling hadn't vanished one bit, even as she suppressed either option. “I’ve been waiting for you,” she said with earnest.
Diana startled, reading as much in Giselle as she’d intended. How well Diana understood her. With time, Giselle had grasped in turn. The rumours of rebels, the Cygnets’ brutal revenge. Diana alive, yet away, while her home was destroyed. The young woman wanted for insurrection in Norta who soon stood right next to Mare Barrow, the Calore princes and the leaders of foreign nations. Diana had chosen her path and she hadn’t trusted Giselle to follow, no, not even to tell her about it, and so broke their hearts instead.
It was also what angered Giselle, what a part of her resented to this day: Diana had been right. Giselle would never have joined her in the Scarlet Guard or any other rebellion and Diana hadn’t even needed to ask or hear an answer. Already back then, she’d anticipated Giselle’s position with the same calculation that brought her to the top of Scarlet Guard’s revolution.
Diana grimaced to produce a pained smile. “You must hate me.”
“Hate? Please.”
“But you aren’t happy.”
Giselle bit her lip. “I haven’t felt much of your deals and victories.” She shrugged. “It’s the same, really. People are conscripted while the lords and lieges feed on their cruel whims. Your Scarlet Guard may have started here, your successes are elsewhere.”
Diana shifted, reaching out for Giselle’s shoulder with her gaze pinning Giselle’s face. “I came to change that.”
By getting caught? The remark got lost under the focus of the blue eyes piercing her. “Then I wish you luck,” Giselle replied instead, rolling her shoulder to shake Diana’s hand off, out of reflex rather than aversion as the rush through her, caused by Diana’s touch, spoke of a very different reaction. Hot blood flowed into her head and she gathered her fingers in her lap, kneading them to stop the tingling urge to reach for Diana.
She looked away, Diana did too.
“That’s good to know,” said Diana. “That my – the Guard’s – actions wouldn’t be unwanted.”
Giselle snorted. “If you only know this now, you would’ve done it anyway.”
The fleeting moment of calm vanished as Diana’s head spun to her once more. No need to meet her eyes, mere awareness of Diana’s watch set her on edge. “Yes, we would,” Diana began. “We … it isn’t an option to leave the Lakelands as they are, not while the developments are so uncertain, and things could swing back any time. Montfort learned this the hard way. We need to create a new situation everywhere – “
“Because your plan includes more chaos until everyone follows your lead?”
“What, do you prefer the lead that is now?” Diana snapped.
“Show me better.” Unfazed, Giselle stared up at Diana, returning the feeling of bathing in her looks as her throat bobbed, her chest heaved. She wanted to rile her up. To challenge Diana and get under her skin, because steering her into heated talking seemed the best way to lead her out of the frozen stupor, to break the cocky shell of protection against lingering pain and fear.
Diana’s quivering lips, fumbling for words, and her lids fighting not to blink betrayed how true the jab hit. Deep down, Diana had to have doubts, questioning how her strategies could tip over into overbearing. Until she swallowed, reshaping her face into a mask of conviction. “We were quite successful so far.”
A harsh laugh escaped Giselle’s throat, a laugh shifting into true amusement as Diana fell in. “You’re rude,” said Giselle, trying to stop herself.
Diana cackled deeper, an audible relaxing. When she found Giselle’s eyes, a sudden spark lit her up that gave Giselle a rush of relief.
She’ll get up again.
“I guess that’s my job,” said Diana, still looking at her. “When someone needs to be barked at, threatened, or … worse, General Farley is called.” She quieted, growing serious again.
Averting her eyes, Giselle inclined her head. It was the obvious, almost infamous attribute of Red General, but to hear it stated, spoken of in a joking manner, was a different thing entirely. It came too close to the rift between them, the rift of now and the past.
Giselle balled her fists in her lap. See in which dangers those calls brought you, she thought. You’ve barely escaped captivity. She lifted her gaze to find Diana’s, unintendedly. She blinked, and blood rushed to her cheeks. Flustered, she said, “then your Guard could’ve returned the favour. Made a better plan to save you.”
Diana tilted her head as if puzzled by the idea. Then she laughed out loud. “I suppose you’re right,” she muttered. “I thought the same.”
Giselle was unsure whether to be angered or amused as well. Diana’s life, filled with dark humour to get by, was really beyond her.
Diana cleared her throat with a smirk and straightened herself. “That’s why I should be on the move already,” she said. “It’s enough if a bad plan endangers me –”
Putting a hand on her knees, Giselle stopped her from rising. Eyes met and locked, both shy and determined. “No,” Giselle insisted quietly. Her pulse fastened. Louder, she said, “what’s the point? So you can sleep in a ditch?”
“Giselle –”
“Is there anybody waiting for you, out there? Now? Because I am –”
I’ve been waiting for you. She swallowed before repeating the words that threatened to rise with quite a different intonation, quite a different meaning right now.
Typically, Diana seemed to hear the unsaid words nonetheless. Her mien softened which, added to the marks of her recent ordeals, revealed a vulnerability that had little to do with a rebel general and more with the girl from ten years ago. A sight for Giselle alone?
“One could almost think,” Diana said carefully, “you don’t want me to go.” She covered Giselle’s hand with her own and then, as if pulled by strings that were in truth inside of her, impossibly slow, Giselle sat up into a kneeling position so their faces met at the same level.
Her hand burned under Diana’s touch while the other … in no time at all, it was up to brush Diana’s scarred cheek ever-so-slightly.
Her lips opened, millimeters away from Diana’s. She couldn’t ask, couldn’t put the desire in words for fear to break the spell and so the moment lasted an eternity, her body speaking for her, until Diana answered, letting go of her armour to lean into Giselle’s cupped hand.
Giselle’s eyelashes fluttered one last time before she was kissing her. At first, there was only the chapped skin of Diana’s lips, and the softness beneath giving in, a softness that felt like a hit as it blurred every thought but leaning closer, wanting to get closer still. Yet while yearning flooded her, she unravelled the deepest parts of Diana’s rigidness only bit by bit.
Diana’s reciprocation woke slowly. A hand squeezing Giselle’s. The other reaching for her waist. Her mouth moving in synch with every small shift of Giselle’s as if they relied on each other to breathe.
It wasn’t air that enlivened Giselle though it was as much energizing, rushing wildly into her face, her cheeks, down her neck and into her upper body. Desire tingled in her arms as her fingers travelled from Diana’s cheek to her jawline into her hair, short but curly, still tangled but mostly clean now. It shivered in her kneeling legs, bracketing Diana’s, and throbbed between her thighs.
She felt goose bumps on Diana’s skin as she stroked her thigh, shoving up the nightgown; she shuddered as Diana deepened the kiss with a moan of pure hunger. Diana pulled her closer and Giselle cried out of joy. With a sharp breath, her mouth left Diana’s to nuzzle her jawline. She tried to speak, to murmur a propose to go on but she didn’t know how; nor did she grasped how they finally rose from the rim of the bathtub.
They stood, hugging, kissing, tucking at hair and clothes. Diana’s hands moved to her sides, her fingers drawing circles into the skin between waist and hips. Instantly, Giselle let her hips sway and felt for Diana’s waist in turn. She loved the dips of a woman’s waist, no matter her size, loved touching there and being touched there herself.
This night really was a dream, wasn’t it? A twist of fate in the person of a gorgeous woman.
It made her pause, to break away and stroke Diana’s short curls. She was in need of help, probably in shock. Would she even think of sex?
Diana blinked in question.
Giselle swallowed. “Do you want … more?” she managed at last, her fingers in Diana’s hair twitching nervously.
Diana lowered her eyes and closed them. In the dim light, Giselle believed she was blushing, and that it would end here, with her ruing ever bringing it up. The lack of reply was embarrassing – until a low sound rose, both sigh and chuckle. Diana’s eyes shone in the dark, like a flash, before another kiss grabbed all her attention.
Now, that was enough of an answer and still Diana hugged her tighter and whispered an almost inaudible “absolutely” into Giselle’s ear.
If Giselle’s desire had sobered slightly, Diana’s made up for it. That Giselle wore more clothes than her became suddenly unbearable and Diana urged to remove them. Four hands fumbled to get rid of Giselle’s bodice so Diana could keep squeezing into her flesh, fingers travelling from waist to navel to breasts.
The last of their clothes were gone, shed on the floor, as they stumbled into Giselle’s bedroom. It still smelled of fire though the coals had long burned down, so only the same pale moonlight that made the blooming cherry trees shine illuminated the room and the two women. The smell of lilac bouquets and the wooden roof filled the air, along with the scent of their bodies holding close. Diana had used their good soap, Giselle noticed, but she had her own smell as well, one Giselle was unable to describe yet found all the more enticing, the mixed fragrances of home, nature and the strange-but-not woman in her arms, in her bed, under her.
Bare to each other, they could only look, very much like the first time they’d made out. Eleven years had passed and left their marks. They’d become adults and changed and while they couldn’t see each other’s souls and shadows lay between them, there was plenty to read. Giselle had grown out of the delicate girl and filled out, rounded by curves and lean muscles; Diana’s body revealed her life as a soldier. Scars in more places than Giselle dared to count, broad and strong in shoulders, back and arms; yet also soft, with a curve to her tummy, large breasts, wide hips and big thighs.
Thighs Giselle moved for first when she was unsure where to start, checking the firm top side, then grinning as her hand travelled to the softer inside and coaxed a deep moan from Diana with a squeeze. She laughed, bending over to brush quick kisses over Diana’s lips, collarbone, nipples and stomach, before taking one last breathe, before going down on her.
As usual, Giselle woke at dawn. To her, the red sky of sunrise wasn’t a symbol for the fight for equality but marked the beginning of her farm duties. She yawned, and yet, instead of getting up, she lingered, hugging Diana from behind, marvelling at how the coppery light, both warm and cold, illuminated Diana’s back, accentuating the sharp lines of her shoulders and bringing out new shades in her hair.
Giselle chewed on her lip with longing. She wished this moment to last. She knew the dream was over. Sighing, her fingers glided over Diana’s skin, then she leaned forward and kissed a dimple in her shoulder before she sat up. Those would be her only tries to wake Diana, she decided. She didn’t like to leave her behind, but Diana appeared so peaceful, so much in need of rest Giselle didn’t want to interrupt it. If Diana scolded her for that later on – she wasn’t exactly scared of it. Without trying to stay especially quiet, she rose to pick up her clothes, washed and dressed herself, and then went out to look after the animals.
An hour later, hair pinned up and humming a tune, Giselle prepared breakfast and tea, considering which brew Diana would enjoy or if she should use the last bit of cocoa powder, saved as it was so expensive and hard to get. Her family would brunch over in the next village after helping out there, to arrive home at lunch, probably. Finishing the cocoa in their absence left her with a tad of guilt but this was the special occasion she’d saved it for, wasn’t it? Yet what if Diana didn’t even like –
Giselle lost the thought as loud steps approached the kitchen, just to stop at the door. “Morning!” Giselle greeted over her shoulder. And startled as she beheld Diana.
She’d cut her hair – buzzed it all off to millimeters of yellow stubble. She must’ve found the shaver along with the baggy knitted jacket of Giselle’s father she wore now. Together with the rumpled clothes from last night, her outfit stood at odds with the rather military demeanour Diana displayed as she strode into the kitchen.
A grin got stuck in Giselle’s throat. It was too confusing, a façade. The buzzcut didn’t make her look like a soldier, it stressed the raw state she tried to hide.
“Good morning too,” Diana said with smile as she sat down. She rubbed her head and winked. “Surprised? Just been fed up with the hair mess lately”.
Because it reminded her of her prison. Giselle was aghast as Diana’s smile widened, only to look even more fake as fuck. Diana wouldn’t give in to pity herself, but would she acknowledge when she needed to give in for a break? Yet if Diana wanted to appear good-humoured, who was Giselle to pull her down? Maybe that worked best for her.
Giselle cleared her throat, forcing her own smile and asked which food and tea Diana would like. Though answering gratefully and decidedly, as well as inquiring about Giselle’s family in turn, Diana picked at her plate as they faced each other at the table.
Giselle tried not to watch her, letting Diana take her time – to get accustomed to or rejoice in homemade food after whatever she was granted in captivity –, but she also couldn’t help glimpsing at her, the fingers both nimble and shaky, her face so intense in its details.
It didn’t work. Diana noticed, of course, catching her glances and pinning Giselle with stares of her own. Giselle breathed heavily, tucking at hair still in perfect order. It was all so awkward. Deep down, she hadn’t expected otherwise; it was the nature of one-night-stands, and whatever they’d been once, Diana and Giselle had been estranged for ten years.
Diana put down her knife with a loud clack, startling Giselle. Quickly recovered, Giselle chuckled. “You don’t have to stab anyone here,” she jested.
“You don’t know that,” retorted Diana, taking Giselle aback. Diana faltered. Her gaze, burning one moment, dimmed the next. “I’m … sorry. I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t have stayed so you might have to stab one of my trackers …” She trailed off, losing focus.
Was she talking about more than leading Silvers here? Did she ... regret their night together? Giselle grinded her teeth, not wanting to believe it. Diana had wanted it, craved it, as if to overwrite the weeks in captivity and reclaim herself. At least, that was how Giselle understood her. If Diana needed that, she wouldn’t feel used for it when she could hardly keep her eyes and hands off her.
Still, desire could never bridge the unchanged gulfs between them – or could it?
She balled her fists, nails pressing sharply into her flesh. Was distance all that defined them? If so, their intimacy didn’t matter – had not, and never would - and Giselle found she couldn’t stand that thought. She couldn’t see Diana as a stranger about to leave and to be forgotten like their meeting had no impact and they no feelings to share.
She loosened her fists and reached for Diana’s hand, grasping trembling fingers that calmed at the union.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Giselle said softly. “Glad that you’ve escaped, glad to see you again … and happy to be there for you.” She paused to catch a few breaths. “We’re not exchanging gifts in a bargain, Diana, we’re …” But she didn’t know what they were. Friends or lovers, those terms were past and potential but not the truth. She gulped. “I’m with you,” she said instead, though it still felt like too much when Giselle didn’t fight at her side.
Diana seemed not to register that detail. She looked like she’d cry, her pretends gone for good. Giselle squeezed her hand, only to let go as Diana pulled her hand back to cover her face. Sure, Diana might look like would cry or was about to break, but she would do neither.
After a long moment, Diana’s hands met in front of her face, forming a triangle, like a shield – or a blade? – holding her apart from Giselle while revealing her red-rimmed, shiny eyes. “I want to see my daughter again,” she muttered, choking on the words layered with a yearning vaster than she could articulate. It was so strong. It swallowed her. It was a sea Giselle couldn’t even begin to grasp.
She needed more than a few seconds to understand. A daughter. Diana had a child. Was that the reason why she rued last night? Another parent to her child? A lover she’d betrayed?
Giselle felt slightly sick. There it was, the proof of the oceans between her and Diana’s life. Giselle hadn’t considered Diana having a child, having hardly considered having one herself. Children would be such a conscious choice for her, and the partner she might have one day, she’d delayed the idea until she would meet that woman and might know whether they wanted a child together.
Had Diana thought long about this? Or did it “happen” to her? Did she have a partner? How was it like? How and why did she hide the fact of her daughter from the public? The questions urged to be asked but she shut down their needling and cleared her throat. “How old is your daughter?” she said instead, carefully polite, not over-curious.
Yet Diana appeared even more aghast. Fuck.
“I … don’t know.” Diana cackled once and harshly, then covered her face with her hands again. “What day is it? If it’s May … she could be four … or already five …”
It was May 17th. Giselle swallowed a sigh. Diana had missed her own birthday as well, but it wasn’t the one she cared for. Of course she didn’t. Giselle imagined the child looking forward to the birthday, wishing for her mother to spend it with her, or maybe just her mother returning to her would’ve been the greatest present.
Diana, obviously, hadn’t intended to break her daughter’s heart like that.
Giselle reached out for Diana’s hand on her face. It shivered, even as Giselle held on tighter and tighter, like a buoy. She felt the tears on Diana’s face as Diana suppressed sobs and finally squeezed back.
They lingered in the moment. Giselle wished to keep cupping Diana’s cheek. To be close and intimate, physically and in their hearts, so at last, Diana would trust Giselle to be there for her.
But she had been there for her ten years ago, hadn’t she? She hadn’t done anything wrong; they were just too different.
Just minutes after deciding to find common ground, it showed itself to be a hard, difficult search.
“Hey,” she said softly, caressing Diana’s cheek. “It’s okay now. You’ll meet soon, I’m sure.”
Though appearing less sure, Diana calmed.
Why doesn’t she agree? Giselle thought. Would the Scarlet Guard tell her to do something ‘more important’ than seeing her child?
Irked by the idea in the face of Diana’s sorrow, she asked, “so, do you recommend it to me?” Her tone was decidedly cheerful. “Having a child?”
According to the abrupt change of topic, Diana’s eyes widened in utter confusion, making Giselle successful in lifting her spirit. Soon, Diana’s featured softened again, almost into another person’s. “Yes,” she breathed dreamily. “It’s … wonderful.” She sounded surprised by her own awe. “I didn’t know how much I’d love her. It’s incredible. To see Clara grow and become this cool person and imagine we’d made her … but we didn’t, not really. She’s making herself, and …” She paused, kneading her fingers with Giselle’s.
A whiff of sadness flashed as Diana looked down for a second, all serious when she lifted her gaze again. “I didn’t know how afraid she’d make me either. Every day, sometimes more, sometimes less. I fear failing her. I fear losing her, and nothing could break me but that.” She slapped on the table for emphasis. “Nothing.”
Not even losing her war, she meant.
Diana blinked, her eyes examining the room for the first time like she only woke up this moment for real. “Because I’ve lost everyone else,” she added. “She’s the only love I’ve left.”
Her head spun, now straight on Giselle, just staring at her. Her fingers moved slowly towards Giselle’s other hand, taking it at last. “Apart from you,” Diana said. “You’re still there.”
After you left me, Giselle thought, a sob rising in her throat.
Diana inched closer until their foreheads touched. “Or not,” Diana whispered. “I am the one coming back this time. To you. To Clara. Even to Mare and Calore.” She chuckled at the last two.
Now Giselle sobbed for real. Reading between the lines, it didn’t sound like Clara had another parent. And “Clara” itself – it was Diana’s mother’s name, another person they’d lost.
Back when King Orrec flooded Sieverling, Giselle had also lost friends and a home. She’s left the village, but not for forever as Diana had – she’d wanted to visit and stay close to the people who had welcomed and helped her family. Instead, everyone was killed, leaving nothing but ruins and a boggy forest.
Where the tragedy had motivated Diana to fight, it had been all the reminder Giselle had needed to be grateful for her new home and to stay in line.
Giselle grabbed Diana’s hand tightly. So hard they both winced. She pulled away to find Diana’s eyes. “So do come back,” Giselle urged her. “First to your daughter, to Clara, and then … to me.” She breathed heavily. Diana, with her cropped hair, her blushed face and sparkling blue eyes, still looked so young, not like a nightmare to Silvers. Yet she was all that, and more.
Giselle let go their joined hands, brushing Diana’s cheek once again. Quieter now, she said, “come back with Clara. Show her where you come from.”
She yearned to kiss Diana again, pull her close and never let go. It shouldn’t be. When Diana would go, these hours would truly seem like a dream, with her shorn hair left in the bin the only proof of her visit. Giselle couldn’t ask for more, but she could ask this.
Diana nodded and kissed Giselle’s brow. “I promise you,” she whispered and these three words were maybe even more intimate than the night before. “I’ll come back. To you, and for the rest of the Lakelands.”
A/N 2: Okay but while Farley was a captive, Mare and Cal took care of Clara which may or may not have played a role in them having children too. A possible future spin-off.
