#chapter thirty-one

[chaptertwo-thepacnw]

something wicked this way comes, ray bradbury

[renee-writer]

Take the Wheel Chapter Thirty -one

AO3

“I broke up with John. He is a wonderful guy and I like him. There is just no… spark.”

She rocks Kiara, who lays more then half asleep on her. Jenny is doing the same with Wee Jamie. The rest of the house is silent.

“I owe you an apology Claire. You see, I knew Jamie’s feelings for you. He told me yet, I still set you up with John.”

Claire frowns. “Why?”

“I didn’t understand. I thought he was someone he isn’t , Jamie not John. I thought he was a player. He isn’t . In fact, he is just the opposite. I didn’t want you hurt and John was a safe choice.”

“You didn’t know he was a virgin?” She adjusts the, now sleeping, Kiara on her lap. Jenny stares at her, open mouthed. “Yes, we have discussed it.”

“No I, no I didn’t know. Sorry Claire.”

“You were trying to be a good mate. How can I blame you for that?”

“So you and Jamie are getting on then?”

“Very well. He is exactly who I need. Sweet and kind, brilliant with children and, bloody hot.”

Jenny giggles nervously. “Well that is good then.”

“Very.”

[the-girl-in-the-box]

Not Today XXXI

A/N: Well! A week late, and I'm back on schedule! I have had... a really crazy time this past week, and I am SO sorry for that unannounced break I had to take. I've been staying up Tuesday nights to watch the premiere of Loki when it airs, but after last week's episode I ended up feeling really unwell, so I wasn't able to sleep for a good bit of the night. By the time I COULD have slept, it was no longer worth it, because we were going to have someone coming over with papers we needed to sign. Only expecting that to take about thirty minutes, I decided I'd sleep afterwards. Only, while we're doing that, an ambulance and a fire truck and a few police showed up next door, which caused us to be distracted enough that the signing took an hour. Walk over there to see what had happened and... turns out, my neighbour had passed away. Understandably, that, sort of took any interest in writing very much out of me for the weekend. I eventually made myself update my story Can You Imagine?, which ended up being a really good thing, as it was able to sort of get me back in the swing of writing. So, a week late, here is Chapter 31 of Not Today. I hope you all enjoy <3 Skål!

Summary: When Ivar takes the throne of Kattegat, Lagertha flees to Wessex along with Björn, Ubbe, Torvi, and the Bishop Heahmund. There, they seek the aid of King Alfred. This aid comes in the form of his sister, Aethelind, who agrees to travel to Kattegat and try to reason Ivar, who she spent some time with during their youth, when her grandfather King Ecbert hosted Ragnar Lothbrok in their castle. Now, she is the only hope for Lagertha and her supporters to retake Kattegat from Ivar the Boneless.

Masterlist

--

Asta couldn’t stop pacing once she and Ivar had returned to their chambers. He’d tried a few times to get her to stop, take a moment and sit down, but each time she did try, she ended up on her feet once more and pacing anxiously. It was obvious what was bothering her- after all, he himself couldn’t stop the image in his mind of Freydis- or, really, of Katia.

Eventually, as she continued to pace, Ivar huffed and leaned back on his hands. “Are you going to stop that tonight?” he asked her irritably. Asta paused finally and turned to look at him.

“Ivar, you saw what I saw,” she said. “I know you did. How are you not… about to lose your mind?”

He chuckled. “I am,” he replied. “And yet, you’re here losing yours enough for both of us. Sit down, perhaps I should call for some wine to make you relax for a moment?” That did nothing to calm her, as he saw her wringing her hands in the way she always did before she began to pace, and he sighed. “Asta, come here.”

Ivar stretched his hand out to her, and after a moment’s hesitation, Asta walked toward him and took it. He pulled her to sit beside him, then took both her hands in his. “We are both in shock,” he said. “What are you thinking about right now, hm?”

“It can’t be her,” she said immediately. “She… Ivar, I carried her. I carried her body, she was gone. I sat with her after I laid her out, long enough that had she lived, I’d have known about it. So how- how can she-?”

“I do not know,” he answered. “But we will figure this out, Asta. You have my word, we will.”

She shook her head, a sort of desperate expression on her face. “How can you know we will?” she asked.

“Because we must,” he replied. “Neither of us will be able to stand it if we do not get these answers, we both know this. But we will. We will.”

Asta nodded a little, and she let Ivar wrap his arm around her and pull her into his side. “I hope you’re right,” she said, her voice soft. “I couldn’t stand it if…”

“I know,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her head. “I know, Asta. I know.”

His words were soothing to the Shieldmaiden, and she gave one more nod before truly settling in against him. He smiled as she did so, and let his fingers drift through her hair slowly. If he could lull her to sleep, he knew that would be the best for both of them. They’d had a strange evening, what with the presentation of the guards’ heads, and then the presentation of Princess Katia. It wasn’t often they would condemn men to death, and see a woman raised from it.

But, then again, he figured none of this really was their fault. They hadn’t meant to get the guards killed, but the fact that they’d let themselves be distracted by Princess Anna was, when he thought about it, their own faults. Perhaps they’d exploited the guards’ weaknesses, but they should have been better trained!

That didn’t mean he was very happy with Prince Igor, young as he was, being exposed to the severed heads. But what could he do? He and Asta were welcome in Kiev so long as they remained on Oleg’s good side, he knew that. Freeing Dir had been quite a risk, one they’d both been more than willing to take, but a risk nonetheless. If Oleg ever heard what they’d done, Ivar knew they would be in worse shape than the heads they were served at dinner.

An image flashed in his mind of Asta’s head, laid somewhere on the ground separated from her body, and then the body of Freydis laid out beside her, his late wife’s eyes empty and unseeing. He couldn’t lose Asta, not after he’d lost Freydis, and everyone else he had ever…

He couldn’t lose her and be alone again.

Nor yet could Asta bring herself to truly consider what it might mean to lose Ivar. But, in the face of the guards they’d eluded being murdered, and in the face of seeing her beloved Freydis back from the dead, she found it hard not to consider such things.

But each time she remembered how lifeless Freydis had been, how her skin had begun to pale, how she’d had to close the Queen’s eyes herself, how strange her skin had felt when she’d kissed her goodbye… There was no way in any world that the woman had still lived. But that didn’t now explain the appearance of this… Princess Katia.

Somehow, Asta felt as though she knew the truth, that this woman was not Freydis, and never would be. Perhaps this was a cruel trick of fate, or another lesson she and Ivar had yet to learn, presented through the Princess, but Asta knew she wasn’t Freydis, not really. No matter how much they would want her to be.

That said, as they laid down that night to sleep, she couldn’t help but wonder what Ivar himself was believing about the woman. If she had to guess… Well, the beliefs of the Viking people tended to lend more to such strange, unexplained events. Whereas Asta believed a man could be raised from the dead, if her Lord was willing, she didn’t believe it really happened anymore. But Ivar? Who could say what he believed about such a thing? Perhaps he believed his gods had returned Freydis from Valhalla, where Asta was sure she should have gone, sacrificing herself as she had, for some reason they could not yet guess.

Still, Asta managed to eventually make herself fall asleep, comforted by the simple fact that she knew Ivar would not let this go until they had some kind of answer. And then…

Then, perhaps they could rest.

The next day, Asta and Ivar chose to get some fresh air, indulging theirselves in a bit of relaxation outside the Palace, for once. They were taking a moment to rest, for Ivar’s sake, when they saw the very woman who had them both so puzzled walking through the crowd, attended by a few handmaidens. Briefly, Asta thought back to the ones she’d once had in Wessex, and she wondered vaguely what might have become of them.

The Princess caught their eyes, and she gave them a small smile. Ivar was stunned once more by the Princess’s likeness to Freydis, but Asta had come to a decision as she’d laid in the dark next to the man she falsely claimed as a husband. As much as Katia looked like Freydis, she would not let that distract her from finding out the truth. She deserved to know, as much as Ivar did, how this was possible, and so she intended to do exactly that.

Though, she didn’t expect that the Katia would dismiss her handmaidens, take a moment, and then wait in such a way that it was clear she wished to be approached. Asta shared a brief look with Ivar, silently asking if he wanted to do as the Princess intended, and when he nodded, she nodded back, and walked out to greet her.

Katia’s attention had been captured by a man appearing to breathe fire, enthralling the crowds around him, but she turned away when she heard Ivar’s greeting of, “Princess.” He gave a short bow, and waited on Katia to turn before he continued. “We’ve been waiting for the opportunity to talk to you privately,” he told her. “Surely, you understand why we need to talk to you.”

She didn’t speak, but watched Ivar expectantly, waiting for him to further explain himself. He did so.

“Oleg is playing games with us.”

“And why do you say so, Ivar the Boneless?” she questioned, finally turning to give the pair of Vikings her full attention.

“You are Freydis,” he replied.

“Freydis? I don’t understand.”

“Neither do we,” Ivar said. “But it is true. And you and I… were once married.”

Asta had no good explanation for why she felt a strange twinge in her chest, something unpleasant as she looked between Ivar and this new woman. He hadn’t ever been married to her, she knew, and the idea that Ivar believed he had been was disconcerting to her on a number of fronts- not all of which were really known to the Shieldmaiden.

“Were we really?” Katia asked. “And… what happened to us?”

Ivar fell silent, looked away from her gaze. Asta’s eyes narrowed a bit.

What did this Princess know? Ivar had told Oleg of Freydis’s fate, she knew that, but had Oleg told Katia? Is that why she’d asked such a question that would seem innocent, and yet have such deeper meaning to Ivar?

When he didn’t answer, Katia gave them a small smile, and started to walk away. It wasn’t until that moment that Ivar let out a breath, his eyes suddenly filling with tears. Asta put a hand on his shoulder as an attempt at reassurance, and then she was chasing down the Princess Katia. She wouldn’t let her play with Ivar, not in this way. Not with Freydis.

“Princess!” Asta called out, causing Katia to stop and turn to her now. The Princess smiled at her, and again turned all her attention to her. “What do you know of my husband’s first wife?”

Katia blinked a few times, as if having not expected this. “Is that this… Freydis, he speaks of?” she questioned, tilting her head just a bit. Asta nodded. “I think… he must believe I look like her, and has confused me with her. But what happened… I cannot imagine, for him to react to seeing me as he has.”

“She died,” Asta replied, swallowing hard as the words left her mouth. “In the final Siege of Kattegat. He loved her dearly, as did I, and we still mourn her loss.”

Katia smiled at her softly, and nodded to indicate she understood. “I can understand why you both must have loved her,” she said. “If she was… half as beautiful as you, then she must have been a beautiful woman in her heart, as well.” Confusion flickered across Asta’s face as Katia reached up to brush some of her hair behind her shoulder, and let her hand come down to rest on her arm. “And your husband is lucky to have you now, Asta the Prophet. Keep a careful eye on him. This city… who knows what dangers it may hide?”

She gave a brief nod of her head, and melted into the crowd just like that.

The Shieldmaiden couldn’t help the way she lifted a hand to brush through her hair, where Katia’s hand had just been. What angle was she playing at? Was this supposed to be an unnerving sort of thing, to make Asta question what was reality and what was fiction?

Whatever that had been, it didn’t leave Asta’s mind through the entire day, not as she returned to Ivar, took his hand, and suggested they return to their own chambers for some rest before dinner would be served that night, not even as they sat at dinner, once more in the company of Oleg, Igor, and the mysterious Katia.

Then again, sat across the table from the woman, how could Asta forget their interactions in the market that morning? Especially as Katia continued to glance at her from across the table, only to smile gently at her and turn away each time she was caught. This Rus excursion she and Ivar were on only seemed to grow weirder and weirder, and more and more baffling, to her. At this point, all she really wanted was for things to be normal again. She wanted to be with Ivar, and with Freydis, back at home in Kattegat. That was all.

When the two finally returned to their chambers that night, dinner having gone smoothly, Asta immediately decided to get this concern off her chest. “Katia is playing with us as well,” she said, earning Ivar’s attention as he had been removing his leg braces for sleep.

“Is she?” he questioned. “Oleg is, I believe, in having brought her here, but…”

“No,” Asta said. “It is Katia as well. I think she knows more than she’s let on, and it worries me. She acted interested in what you were saying, about having been married to her before, and of course she would. What woman wouldn’t listen and pay attention to an attractive Viking claiming to have once been her husband?”

Ivar smirked a little at how she so easily called him attractive, and he wondered if she quite realized she’d said it.

“But good Lord!” Asta explained. “She doesn’t have to act so strange about it. It’s as if she’s taunting me with what you said, speaking about how we both must miss her if she was, what, ‘half as beautiful’ as me? What does that even mean? Freydis was far more beautiful than I am.” She paused, considering. “Well, not that Katia would know that, she’s never met her, but if she would just bloody well look in the mirror she would see it!”

“Do you not think you are beautiful?” Ivar questioned, chuckling just a bit at the rather lively rant she’d just gone on. The Shieldmaiden huffed and turned on him.

“Is that all you took away from that?!” she asked frustratedly. She gave a scoff and muttered out, “Men,” before turning back to continue brushing out her hair. This caused Ivar to burst out laughing in full.

“Asta, come let me take care of your hair,” he said, wanting again to calm her as he so often did when she became worked up- as she so often calmed him when he became worked up. Her answer surprised him.

“I’m quite alright doing it myself, thanks.”

He smiled amusedly, and chuckled. “I know you are,” he said. “But I like doing it for you. It helps me calm down at the end of the day.”

Ivar watched how Asta paused, considering, and then eventually came to the bed with her hairbrush in hand, sitting facing away from him and letting him take the brush from her. Just as he’d known she would do.

The trick was, with Asta, to ask her to do things which would help someone else, when she wouldn’t let herself be helped. There were times when she would become stubborn and insist she could handle herself, insist that she was alright on her own, but there was never a time she would turn down the chance to be of assistance to another person, not when the cause was good. Once Ivar had figured that out, he’d figured out how to nearly always get her to accept his help. Ask her to help her, and when she declined, quickly turn it so it would help him if she accepted. She always caved in, then.

“Why does she make you nervous, hm?” he asked, brushing through her hair in long, soothing motions. “Is it the fact she may be Freydis, brought back to us somehow?”

Asta shook her head a little. “I don’t believe she is Freydis,” she confessed. “I’m not convinced as such, anyway. But whoever she is…” She took a deep breath, batting around the idea of being completely transparent with Ivar, of opening up to him entirely.

“You believe she is Freydis, and I know how much you loved her. I don’t want this Katia, whoever she is, to take advantage of that. It would be all too easy for her to play at being Freydis, this woman we have both loved, for her to convince you it is true, and for you to begin trying to convince me.”

“And you really think I could?” he asked.

“I don’t,” Asta confessed. “And therein lies the problem.” She turned, making him stop brushing her hair as she did so, and taking the brush from his hand. Sitting it to the side, she moved to take his hands in hers, before looking him in the eye. “I don’t care how much we disagree on this, and on her, Ivar, whether we are always on the same page, or never. Only promise me that it won’t ever come between us, and that I won’t lose you to this.”

His eyes widened a bit, as if her quiet plea had been the last thing he’d expected to hear, and he straightened up a bit. Ivar’s grip on her hands tightened as he looked into her worried eyes. It all made perfect sense to him, the last pieces to this puzzle falling into place.

“You won’t lose me to anything, dear Asta,” he promised. “As wonderful as it would be for Freydis to live again, I would not abandon you on a possibility of that being true. I would not abandon you if it were true.”

“That’s not-”

“Quite what you are afraid of, I know,” he said. “And even if you never agree with me on who Katia is, I will not abandon you for it. We have come too far together, and you have become too important to me, for me to leave you now over a disagreement. We are, neither of us, any more than a human, nor are we any less. It is not in our nature to be in perfect agreement at all times, and it would be foolish of me to abandon you, who have been at my side through all manner of things, because you do not hold the same beliefs as me. Hm?”

“It would,” she agreed. “Thank you. I…” A pause. “I care too much for you to let something come between us, especially something which we may never have a direct answer for.”

“As do I,” he replied. “Now come and go to sleep. There is still much to be done, and we must continue our work tomorrow.”

Unlike the night before, Asta felt at peace as she settled in beside him to rest. There was no greater reassurance for her than one given by him, and for him, there was no greater reassurance than to feel her, ever by his side.

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[whenfrasermetbeauchamp]

Usually a busy place, on Quarter Day the manor house simply bristled with activity. Tenants came and went all day. Many came only long enough to pay their rents; some stayed all day, wandering about the estate, visiting with friends, taking refreshment in the parlor. Jenny, blooming in blue silk, and Mrs. Crook, starched in white linen, flitted back and forth between kitchen and parlor, overseeing the two maidservants, who staggered to and fro under enormous platters of oatcake, fruitcake, “crumbly,” and other sweets.

Jamie, having introduced me with ceremony to the tenants present in dining room and parlor, then retired into his study with Ian, to receive the tenants singly, to confer with them over the needs of the spring planting, to consult over the sale of wool and grain, to note the activities of the estate, and to set things in order for the next quarter of the year.

I puttered cheerfully about the place, visiting with tenants, lending a hand with the refreshments when needed, sometimes just drifting into the background to watch the comings and goings.

Recalling Jamie’s promise to the old woman by the millpond, I waited with some curiosity for the arrival of Ronald MacNab.

He came shortly past noon, riding a tall, slip-jointed mule, with a small boy clinging to his belt behind. I viewed them covertly from the parlor door, wondering just how accurate his mother’s assessment had been.

I decided that while “drunken sot” might be overstating things slightly, Grannie MacNab’s general perceptions were acute. Ronald MacNab’s hair was long and greasy, carelessly tied back with twine, and his collar and cuffs were grey with dirt. While surely a year or two younger than Jamie, he looked at least fifteen years older, the bones of his face submerged in bloat, small grey eyes dulled and bloodshot.

As for the child, he also was scruffy and dirty. Worse, so far as I was concerned, he slunk along behind his father, keeping his eyes on the floor, cringing when Ronald turned and spoke sharply to him. Jamie, who had come to the door of his study, saw it too, and I saw him exchange a sharp look with Jenny, bringing a fresh decanter in answer to his call.

She nodded imperceptibly and handed over the decanter. Then, taking the child firmly by the hand, she towed him toward the kitchen, saying, “Come along wi’ me now, laddie. I believe we’ve a crumbly or two going wantin’. Or what about a slice of fruitcake?”

Jamie nodded formally to Ronald MacNab, standing aside as the man went into the study. Reaching out to shut the door, Jamie caught my eye and nodded toward the kitchen. I nodded back and turned to follow Jenny and young Rabbie.

I found them engaged in pleasant converse with Mrs. Crook, who was ladling punch from the big cauldron into a crystal bowl. She tipped a bit into a wooden cup and offered it to the lad, who hung back, eyeing her suspiciously, before finally accepting it. Jenny went on chatting casually to the lad as she loaded platters, receiving little more than grunts in return. Still, the half-wild little creature seemed to be relaxing a bit.

“Your sark’s a bit grubby, lad,” she observed, leaning forward to turn back the collar. “Take it off, and I’ll give it a bit of a wash before ye go.” “Grubby” was a gross understatement, but the boy pulled back defensively. I was behind him, though, and at a gesture from Jenny, grabbed him by the arms before he could dart away.

He kicked and yowled, but Jenny and Mrs. Crook closed in on him as well, and between the three of us, we peeled the filthy shirt off his back.

“Ah.” Jenny drew in her breath sharply. She was holding the boy’s head firmly under one arm, and the scrawny back was fully exposed. Welts and scabs scored the flesh on either side of the knobby backbone, some freshly healed, some so old as to be only faded shadows lapping the prominent ribs. Jenny took a good grip on the back of the boy’s neck, speaking soothingly to him as she released his head. She jerked her head in the direction of the hall, looking at me.

“You’d better tell him.”

I knocked tentatively at the study door, holding a plate of honeyed oatcakes as excuse. At Jamie’s muffled bidding, I opened the door and went in.

My face as I served MacNab must have been sufficient, for I didn’t have to ask to speak privately with Jamie. He stared meditatively at me for a moment, then turned back to his tenant.

“Well then, Ronnie, that will do for the grain allotment. There’s the one other thing I meant to speak wi’ you about, though. You’ve a likely lad named Rabbie, I understand, and I’m needing a boy of that size to help in the stables. Would ye be willing for him to come?” Jamie’s long fingers played with a goosequill on the desk. Ian, seated at a smaller table to one side, propped his chin on his fists, staring at MacNab with frank interest.

MacNab glowered belligerently. I thought he had the irritable resentment of a man who isn’t drunk but wishes he were.

“No, I’ve need of the lad,” he said curtly.

“Mm.” Jamie lounged back in his chair, hands folded across his middle. “I’d pay ye for his services, of course.”

— Outlander/Cross Stitch

Photos: Starz, Season One, Episode Twelve, April 25, 2015

Photo: outlander.wikia.com (Rabbie) 

Photo: pinterest.com (Outlander trading card)

Book: Outlander (Cross Stitch), Diana Gabaldon, 1991

Tumblr: September 20, 2018, WhenFraserMetBeauchamp 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿❤️🇬🇧

WFMB’s Tags: #Outlander #Season One Episode Twelve #S1E12 #Lallybroch #Outlander/Cross Stitch #Chapter Thirty-One #on Quarter Day the manor house simply bristled with activity #”Grubby” was a gross understatement #Claire Fraser #Jamie Fraser #Ian Murray #Ian Mòr #Ronald MacNab #Rabbie MacNab #62 #092018

[ghuletteintraining]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

I was at the Baltimore and Upper Darby rituals earlier this week, and tonight @girlwiththepapatattoo is going to be living her best life at the Albany ritual -- so it’s an extra-special Happy Thursday to all! 

[abnormallyadam]

RIVERDALE 2x18 REACTION IS LIVE! 

THE MUSICAL EPISODE! I AM LITERALLY SHOOK I CANNOT BELIEVE !! 

[camillafanfiction]

Love is stronger than convention Chapter 31

28th December 1975, London

The snow poured down from heaven as Camilla gave a last single cry and the room was silent for a moment before it was filled with a loud lion’s roar. She sunk down into the cushions, totally exhausted, but relieved as well, and closed her eyes for a second.

Charles squeezed her hand, kissed her forehead and got up, he just had to see their baby, the new joy in his life. Before either the doctor or the nurse could utter a single word, Charles begun to sob in happiness as his eyes beheld the wizen, tiny baby. “A Princess,” he pressed out, almost shaking in joy. He had loved another baby boy just as much, but a little princess let his heart brim over with pure bliss, she would surely grow to be the spitting image of Camilla, that was his hope, after all. “Darling, a Princess,” he repeated as he carefully touched the tiny face.

After a few minutes the small family was left to their own and the healthy little girl lay on her mother’s chest, savouring Camilla’s warmth and her gentle strokes. Charles, beaming like a Cheshire cat, wasn’t sure whom he adored more: his daughter or his wife.

The birth had gone quicker than he had expected. With a shiver he recalled the exhausting twelve hour birth Camilla had to endure with Arthur. But the little girl made an appearance just four hours after Camilla had been brought to hospital. It was long and painful enough, though. Camilla had done so well, Charles couldn’t put into words just how proud he was. He wouldn’t survive just a minute in her shoes; he was sure- not just the birth, but the constant pain and vomiting during the whole pregnancy.

“I love you, my, darling,” carefully he kissed her lips, “and I’m so proud of you, more than you could ever imagine,” he whispered, careful not to wake the little one, quietly snoring on Camilla’s chest and trying to grab a piece of her mother in her sleep.

Camilla gave him a tired but happy smile. “Thank you for being on my side,” she replied, “always.” She touched his cheek with gentleness.

The little one chortled in her slumber and crawled nearer to her mother’s breast. “Finally hungry, snowdrop?” Camilla whispered tenderly as the baby seemed to search for the teat. With soft hands she helped her daughter to find the right place and immediately she begun to suck greedily.

It was an overwhelming feeling for Camilla, and Charles almost burst into tears again. Life was perfect, more than that. He had two beautiful healthy children and the most wonderful wife he could ever imagine. And snowdrop seemed like the perfect nickname for new arrival, she was a beautiful flower in the midst of a cold and snowy winter, after all.

Carefully Charles cradled the newborn in his arms afterwards. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, and he couldn’t stop kissing her or telling her how much he loved her. “Darling,” he finally addressed his wife, “do you think we should stick with the names we’ve chosen for her?”

Camilla opened her eyes for a moment, “yes, darling,” she slightly nodded, “if you still like them…”

Charles beamed. “Then it’s official,” he declared happily, “Alexandra Theodora Sonia Elizabeth.” He paused a moment, but then placed Alexandra on Camilla’s chest carefully. “What do you think, lovey, you two beautiful ladies rest for a moment and I call Mummy at Sandringham and your parents, hm?”

Charles, Camilla and Arthur hadn’t spent Christmas at Sandringham for obvious reasons, but had instead spent the holidays at the palace in London with Rosalind and Bruce. They, of course, had been thrilled to be with them. And now they looked after Arthur, since Charles and Camilla had decided to send Mabel, Arthur’s nanny, to her family in Scotland for the holidays- if anyone deserved several free days it was her.

Bruce and Rosalind surely were like cats on a hot tin roof at the moment, hoping and praying that everything went well. Camilla had coped with false contractions throughout Christmas, but today in the early morning she had been sure the contractions now surely weren’t false any longer. In a rush she and Charles were brought to the hospital, which hadn’t been easy due to the heavy snowfall at night.

Rosalind almost died in happiness when she heard her son-in-law uttering the news, and it wasn’t any different with Bruce. And the happy news spread like a wildfire at Sandringham as well, the whole royal family was delighted.

At around 4 pm the news of the birth were made public, leaving the whole country in a state of joy, and after several talks with his private secretaries Charles decided again to speak to the public. He and Camilla would stay in the hospital till tomorrow morning, Camilla just needed at least a little bit of peace and quiet before she would have enough energy to face a picture hungry public. Together they had decided against bringing Arthur to the hospital, it would be too much for the little boy and he should say hello to his new sister in familiar surroundings.

X

29th December 1975, London

While Charles had slept like a log in his uncomfortable hospital bed, Camilla had been busy mothering the baby. Alexandra seemed to be a calm, quiet baby, but she was as hungry as a bear. Well, at least she’d become a strong one with enough good milk, Camilla thought with a yawn.

It was still freezing cold outside, Camilla would make sure she’d bring her daughter into the warm car as soon as possible. One picture had to be enough, she decided. She couldn’t risk having her daughter in the cold any longer than necessary. The public just had to wait a bit for a picture of the new born princess.

But Charles had other plans, obviously. “Darling, I can’t wait to show our angel to the whole word. They’re all thrilled to see her. They’ll be enraptured. She’s a vision of beauty. Just like you, my love, my darling, my wonderful, wonderful wife.” He wanted to embrace Camilla tightly, but in the last second remembered that it probably wouldn’t do her any good, and so he just wrapped his arms around her carefully and kissed her lips tenderly.

“I love you, Charles,” Camilla breathed into her husband’s ear and kissed from his ear over his cheek to his mouth.

Charles shivered, her nearness made him dizzy. How blessed he was to have her, how blessed he was that she loved him, that she was there for him, that she had born him two healthy children, and hopefully some more in the future.

“Charles, darling?” she asked.

“Yes, lovey?”

“Will you take her and hold her safe? And will you promise me you’ll bring her in the car as soon as they’ve got their picture?”

“I promise, my darling, I promise.”

It was around the quarter of an hour later when a prince and two princesses appeared in front of St. Mary’s hospital and a popping of flashbulbs broke down on the small family, accompanied by loud cheers and applause.

Camilla gave the crowd a beaming smile though she felt like falling asleep every second, and waved happily. And Charles couldn’t do other, when the crowds began to sing ‘For she’s a jolly good fellow’, he just had to kiss his wife’s cheek and earned even louder cheers for it.

The little princess, surprisingly, slept through the whole procedure. She was wrapped in thick clothes against the freezing cold. Charles held her tight against his chest, but immediately brought her inside the car, into Camilla’s arms, when it finally emerged. “You’ll get pictures of her soon, I promise,” Charles called to the young reporter he remembered from most of his engagements, before he got into the car himself.

“And now home,” Charles declared inside the car, placing a tight kiss on his wife’s lips- something that didn’t went unnoticed by the young Sun- photographer.

“I’m very happy, darling,” Camilla sighed and leaned her head against Charles’ shoulder. “I just hope Arthur will be good with her…”

“He will, darling,” Charles reassured her, “he’s my son, after all, and ask Anne, I’ve always been a very doting big brother,” he winked.      

.

[renee-writer]

An Inheritance Chapter Thirty-One

AO3

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

She is in the twins nursery and looks up from the book she is reading when he walks in. The babies had been undisturbed by both their father’s activity with Claire and the abrupt return home. They are both sleeping peacefully.

 

“You two saw to him?” He nods as he takes a seat in the footstool before her.

 

“Aye, for now.”

 

“You think he will return.”

 

“Not here, no. The more concerning thing is that his investigation returns at the custody hearing.”

 

She is shaking her head. “What could he know that would harm Jamie? That he has a lover. It isn’t the seventeenth century, after all?”

 

“No, but neither are the Duscany’s normal grandparents. They have money and influence.”

 

“No Ian. He is happy with her. The happiest I have seen him. We can’t ask him to end the relationship simply because.. of those horrible people. We can’t!”

 

“I agree. In fact, I was thinking the opposite.” He gives her a moment. She is a smart lass. He sees when it hits her. Her eyes grow wide, her mouth drops open.

 

“You mean?”

 

“Just so. I suggested marriage.”

 

“But Ian, they haven’t ken’d each other, two months now!”

 

“Shh, the bairns.” They make soft noises before settling back down. “I know. I also know they are deeply in love. It seems the proper answer.”

 

“I don’t know what too… “ She stands and walks over to the crib where her niece and nephew lay. “She is good with them and they adore her. Jamie is head over feet and she seems to feel the same. It is just… I hate that they are forcing them into it.”

 

“Aye, so do they. But, trust me, it was going to happen.” He wraps his arms around her and she rests back against him.

 

“As long as he is happy and they are protected.”  He nods against her shoulder.

 

“I will see to it.”