Mar 11, 2022
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Angola
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Romania
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Bangladesh
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Germany
Stars in A Sky of Blood and Blue - Part LXII
This is just cute and fluffy with younger starlets, which is all I was really aiming for this time around.
Chapter Index - ff.net - AO3
How Blooms Talk; Though things are not serious by any means, the Marquis begins to show his daughters the importance of flowers. [nobility/arranged marriage/kids Whouffaldi AU]
Rough ages are as follows: Johan at 55; Daniel at 38; Clara at 36; Martha at 33; Lena at 5; and Astra and Tara at 3
It was a dreary day in the Spring when the Marquis of Kasterborous and Gallifrey had his daughters for the morning. With the eldest in a free day from lessons and the younger two not ready for them, he brought all three with him as he went to the greenhouse, the girls hiding from the steady rain under his cloak.
“You’re safe now,” he announced as they entered the greenhouse. The girls poked their heads out—there was one of the gardeners to greet them, with the entire building warm and cozy and filled with budding life.
“To what do I owe this surprise?” the gardener asked.
“We’re getting flowers for Mama!” Astra declared.
“Yeah!” Tara agreed. “Mama’s not feeling well, so Papa decided we’d all pick flowers for her!”
“That sounds like an excellent idea—your papa seems to have them often,” the gardener agreed. She then looked at the Marquis, who was glancing around the room, pretending to have not heard her. “What precisely did you have in mind, milord?”
“I was thinking of letting the girls each pick a main flower, and you work with the rest of the vase from there,” he said. “You always do wonderful work.”
“Thank you, milord.” The gardener bowed slightly, knowing the compliment was genuine. “How about you? Did you wish to choose a vase?”
“On that matter, I also trust you; you are aware of the things I wish to express to Her Ladyship on a regular basis and in which manner,” he said. Red colored his face—she knew secrets others dare not and he knew she was aware of how important and valued her discretion was to him.
“Papa, why do we give Mama flowers to cheer her up?”
The Marquis glanced down at his young heir, seeing that she was petting the leaves of a leafy plant taller than herself, her sisters watching on either side. He offered her a kind smile and stroked her hair, getting her attention.
“…because, starlet, flowers often help say things that we can’t always say in words,” he explained. The twins both bounced up and down, holding their arms up high in pleas to be held. “What about you both? Do you see flowers here you want to show Mama?” He picked them both up and chuckled as they snuggled into his shoulders—too much longer and he would be unable to allow them their papa as such, according to his back.
“I like that one!” Astra said, pointing at a cluster of white daisies.
“That one’s pretty too!” Tara added, pointing at pink-and-orange snapdragons.
“What is this one?” Lena asked. She grabbed a stepstool and climbed atop it so that she could see the rows of green shoots with the beginnings of indigo flowers attempting to poke out.
“That is called an iris, milady,” the gardener said. “They stand for eloquence, with this color also being associated with wisdom. Your mama and papa are very wise, which is why we keep this color readily at-hand.”
“Is that because Papa tells you he’s wise?” Lena asked. Her father’s face went red as the gardener smirked.
“No—he is wise because he has learned much,” she explained.
“…like what…?”
“I know that hatred is always foolish, and that love is always wise,” he offered.
The gardener chuckled at that. “…and based on how he treats his family and his people, it is safe to say he is a very wise man indeed.”
“Oh, okay.” The little girl nodded and turned her attention back to the irises. “Is this going to be very pretty when it opens?”
“Very pretty indeed, milady,” the gardener agreed. “It will be nearly as pretty as you.”
Lena giggled at that. “Thank you! Did you hear that, Papa? She said I’m prettier than flowers, and those are very pretty!”
“A wise people for a wise Doctor; I have more than the moon and stars in my sky to be thankful for,” he said simply. He gave the gardener a wink and moved so that Tara was no longer within arm’s reach of the snapdragons she was attempting to take. “How about it? Did you girls want to get some irises for Mama?”
“I want those! Those!” Tara pouted.
“Papa…!” Astra whined. “Pretty!”
“Papa, Papa, Papa! You said the irises!”
“Those!”
“Pretty!”
“Papa!”
“Enough!” the Marquis ordered. His daughters quieted and he placed the twins on the floor. “We are here to pick out something nice for Mama, not here to shout. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Papa,” the three mumbled in unison.
“Enunciate, starlets. Mushed words make poor conversations.”
“Yes, Papa!” they replied clearer. He nodded at that—mumbling was fine in certain situations, but not this one.
“Good. Now, each of you pick a flower so that they can be placed in a vase.”
Each sister pointed at a different flower, adding “please” to their choice. The gardener took a pad out and scribbled down the selections, along with notes on which sister picked which bloom.
“Any other requests?” she asked. She saw that the Marquis was staring at a nearby rosebush, his gaze slipping out of focus. “Milord? Have you changed your mind?”
“Arum lilies, please; with chrysanthemums and bishop’s lace,” he requested quietly. The gardener nodded and wrote the order down—it was her honor.
“Papa, what does this one say?” Astra wondered, pointing at another cluster of flowers. The Marquis nodded and moved the stepstool so that it sat in front of the flowers. The three girls all climbed up, poking their noses over the countertop.
“That is heather—much of it grows in the hinterlands and in the hills around the city,” their father explained. “The purple ones mean beauty and admiration, while the white ones mean protection.”
“Oh, are those going to be irises too?” Lena asked. She pointed at shoots on the other side of the heather and looked at the Marquis, her eyes wide as her mother’s. “Are they? Am I right?”
“Not this time, starlet,” he chuckled. “Those are going to be tulips.”
“How can you tell?”
“I simply do.” He saw his eldest scrunch her nose at that, not accepting so simple an answer. “The leaves are different—lighter and larger than iris—and the flower is not poking out the top in the same manner. Do you see that?”
“It doesn’t poke at all, Papa,” Tara said.
“Exactly—they poke out much later.”
“…but what do those mean?”
“Many things.” He turned to the gardener, who was quietly going over her notes with someone else, and caught her attention. “What colors are here?”
“Oh, those? Those will be lavender, pink, and yellow, if I recall correctly,” she said. “I have more pink, some white, orange, and reds in another section.”
“What do those mean?!” Lena gasped. “That’s a lot of colors!”
“Now, now; let me show you girls one,” the Marquis said. He placed his pointer and middle fingers on either side of a stem and quietly muttered, “fàs.” A soft golden glow flowed from his fingertips into the dirt, aiding the bloom along and making the children gasp. It grew upwards and opened, showing soft, delicate, pink petals dusted in shimmering magic. The Marquis accepted a knife from the gardener and sliced off the stem to show to his daughters. “This one means caring and confidence.”
“That’s neat,” Lena marveled. “When do I get to learn that in classes?”
“You learn it on your own—it is not important when it comes to governance and law,” her father explained. “Most people do not know, nor care to know, about such things.”
“…then why did you learn, Papa?” Astra wondered.
“…to give my wife a puzzle that would in the end tell her how much I truly care for her,” he said. There was no need explaining to them about days gone by and those long-laid in the earth, for it was true that he had secretly brushed up on his flowers when he began to court the Marchioness in earnest. “It is good to tell someone that you love them in those words, but do not cheapen such talk by only speaking. Actions are a wonderful way to reinforce what you have already said, making the words all the more powerful.”
“Sir Daniel says you have to act as well as talk to govern well,” Lena said. She furrowed her brow as she attempted to remember her lesson, given now what felt so long ago yet was only the month prior. “If you say there is going to be a holiday, but then never make one, then people will be cross next time you say there will be a holiday again, because they never got the first one to begin with. Right?”
“Your lessons are going well, starlet,” the Marquis nodded. He glanced back over at the gardener and nodded. “Do you have a book on flower language the young Earlessa can use? Mine has words she might not know just yet.”
“I’ll have one of the assistants look,” she replied. “If that is all, milord, I would like to at least allow the young ladies here a chance to play.” The girls all gasped in anticipation; what did the gardener have in mind? “We have roses that went soft at their base—they will be good for learning how to handle them.”
“Then let us learn,” the Marquis agreed. He calmly ushered his daughters over to where the gardener had gathered some old roses in a bucket, waiting to be discarded. It was good to watch the girls as their eyes went wide at the very concept of petaling a rose; they marveled at the innards of the flower, giggled at how the petals felt, and squealed in delight as the gardener showed them what would happen if one attempted to beat the countertop with the flower, petals puffing out in a small burst in a manner all three immediately wished to try. Before long the girls were smacking the cobblestone floor with old roses, the gardener unsure of the monsters she had created.
The rain began to let up slightly before long and the Marquis gathered his brood under his cape once more, heading back for the castle proper. They returned to the family wing with little fuss, finding the Baron Coal-on-the-Hill talking in the corridor with a member of the Border Forces—a medical officer whom the Marquis recognized immediately.
“You girls remember Miss Martha, don’t you?” the Baron said. He watched as the medical officer gave a short curtsey, with his daughters wobbling to mimic her.
“Why are you here, Miss Martha?” Lena asked out of curiosity.
“I came here to observe your mama,” she replied, going down on one knee to be at eye-level with the children. “It shouldn’t be anything to worry over—I think she caught a sickness while at the front last, because her symptoms are very similar to what I’m seeing there.”
“Oh…” The Earlessa nodded; that was a good answer, she supposed. “Did Mama ask for you?”
“No, I did,” the Baron said. “Miss Martha is one of the best physicians this side of Braxos. Your papa and I feel better knowing what she thinks of your mama not feeling well.”
“Does that mean the regular physician is no good anymore?”
“No, starlet; merely that he does not often see illnesses caught along the border, nothing more,” the Marquis assured. “Sir Daniel and I thought it was best we ask the opinion of a physician more used to such things. Medical Officer Jones is the kind of Doctor that inspired our title back before the lands were a march and earldom.”
“Flattery suits you on occasion, milord,” the physician laughed. The girls saw their papa blush in embarrassment—it was a humorous sight, though one that was to be diffused quickly. “Would the young ladies like to see their mama? She is not contagious and I think can do with company.” She offered her hands and the twins each took one, dragging her along as Lena led the way, leaving their father and tutor in the corridor alone.
“Is it true?” the Marquis asked. The Baron shrugged.
“I trust Martha, you know that. If it’s what she says, then it’s what she says. At least your regular physician didn’t try anything stupid and waited for her diagnosis.”
“It is part of why Kasterborsian physicians are some of the best in the entire kingdom, second to only a select few.” He saw the Baron smirk in agreement—there was little Kasterborsian medicine could do, certainly. “Did you learn how she contracted it?”
“The water, most likely; they’re boiling water for tea a bit longer than normal right now because of it.”
“Good thing it runs its course in a week or so,” the Marquis nodded. That was how long varying soldiers at the front were laid up with similar symptoms, if his memory served him well. “How long can Jones stay here? Do you think she would feel awkward staying here?”
“I’ve… erm… already offered her my cottage,” the Baron admitted. It was his turn to blush now, color returning to his ashen face for but a moment. “Martha and I… we’re seeing one another…”
“Daniel?” The Marquis’s face grew grim. “Are you telling me that you are potentially letting your judgement be clouded?”
“What do you take me for?!” the Baron scoffed. “Martha is truly the best! My relationship with her is coincidental! She’s one of your soldiers, remember?”
“…which is why I am not furious,” the Marquis replied. “Watch yourself—if this venture goes poorly, it could mean plenty more than a rift between you and her.”
“I’m aware it could affect her duties on the border.”
“I was referring to your barony—the one you seem to occasionally forget these days—but yes, that as well.”
“Don’t get on me; I leave for Coal-on-the-Hill next month and you know that.” The Baron’s attention was caught by something further down the corridor and he blinked in surprise. “What’s that…?” The Marquis turned and was taken aback himself.
“Ah! That was quick!” He stepped aside so that the maids carrying vases of flowers could walk past them, headed for his quarters. “I was not expecting this to be done so soon.”
“We were told that there was not much left to be done for the day, so the gardeners had begun the arrangements immediately, before you had even left the greenhouse,” one of the maids said. She was holding Tara’s vase, not only full of snapdragons, but geberas and lilies as well, all balanced with greens and delicate fill. There were even roses the same pink-and-orange as the snapdragons, with ruffled petals and the countenance of a southern sunset. “Do these please His Lordship?”
“Of course,” he said. The Baron opened the door as the maids walked into the Marquis and Marchioness’s chambers, where the children gasped at the sight of their vases so soon after ordering them. Whilst the Marquis’s vase went on the nightstand, the children’s vases were carefully placed around the room, in spots of honor next to seats the family often used.
“We picked these for you, Mama!” Astra said.
“We did!” Tara agreed.
“They look lovely, my dears,” the Marchioness chuckled. She was frighteningly pale, with the medical officer taking the compress from her forehead and wringing it out in the bowl next to the bed. “I am rather tired of being ill, so this should brighten my chambers well. You are behaving for Papa, aren’t you?”
“Yes we are, Mama,” Lena assured. She was sitting on the bed, watching as the compress was rewet and replaced. “Why are you sweating?”
“Your mama’s body is trying to rid itself of the sickness, so it is trying to sweat it out,” the medical officer explained. “Sometimes that works, but sometimes it doesn’t.”
“Will it work now?” Astra asked.
“In this case? I’m not entirely certain. It takes a while to be able to say which patient will heal this way, and which needs additional medicine.” She helped the girl up onto her mother’s bed before patting her atop the head. “Many sicknesses are very predictable in how they behave inside people. While this one is less-so, at least it’s not one that is terribly dangerous. All your mama needs is rest right now… rest and three daughters who are good at behaving.” The medical officer then began packing her bag, taking most of her equipment with her. “Milady, Milord, send for me at the cottage if anything changes. Daniel and I need to talk.”
“Talk all you like,” the Marquis replied. The medical officer and the baron shared a look—her confused and he feigning any knowledge of what the statement meant — before leaving the family be. Once it was just the parents and their brood, all the children snuggled into their mama, not wanting to leave her side.
“I hope you get better soon, Mama,” Lena pouted.
“I’m already better than before, now that I see my Moon and Stars and the presents they chose,” the Marchioness replied. She watched as her husband took off his boots, laying atop the bedding with his cape as a blanket. The girls all burrowed beneath their father’s cape, taking advantage of the cozy, warm fabric and the rain that was beginning to pick up again pattering against the window. “Are you going to nap with me?”
“But of course, Mama,” the Marquis said. He gazed at her across the pillows and took her hand in his—though her sickness and their daughters kept them apart, they were still close as ever. “Your Moon and Stars shall light the way.”
All five settled in, and they did.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
A/N: Honest to goodness, I am dead serious here: if you have an old, soft rose, it is very fun to smack it against a counter and watch it explode. Some do it better than others, but that’s up to you to find out. :D
New character sheet for my ongoing webtoon 👀
Signs as Covert Affairs characters
Aries: Lena
Taurus: McQuaid
Gemini: Auggie
Cancer: Danielle
Leo: Eyal
Virgo: Joan
Libra: Annie
Scorpio: Henry
Sagittarius: Ben
Capricorn: Arthur
Aquarius: Jai
Pisces: Simon
Stars in A Sky of Blood and Blue - Part LXI
I wanted an excuse to write something different, so this happened.
Chapter Index - ff.net - AO3
A Night Sky Brighter Than Violet; Sometimes a doctor is as stubborn as the Doctor, as one summer night proves. [Danny/Martha in a nobility/arranged marriage Whouffaldi AU]
Rough ages are as follows: Johan at 57; Daniel at 40; Clara at 38; Martha at 35; Lena at 6; Astra/Tara at 4; and Sterling at 1 1/2-ish
Summer had just recently begun, along with a new series of barrages from the Dalek Empire. The Kasterborsian encampment was teeming with activity during the nightly ceasefire: tents were being rebuilt, food being prepared and served, medics tending to the wounded, and the strategists planning for more.
“It appears as though the plan of attack is merely to decimate our numbers, or at least attempt to,” one of the officers said. He tapped the map on the table in front of him, right where their camp was supposed to be positioned. “We’ve sustained too much as far as direct attacks are concerned. They don’t often aim for the tents, yet this time, they did.”
“Daleki tactics often change on the daily,” the Marquis grumbled. It was not that he was frustrated with the officer, but the Empire, as it was keeping him away from Gallifrey, a place he wished he would rather stay more often than not. He thought of his daughters and their schooling, his young son just beginning to toddle about the nursery, and his wife who was keeping not only all the children in line, but the entire rest of the march as well. Instead of being with them, he was slumped in a chair, a map rolled out in front of him, and little more than a few letters to keep him company later on.
“This is true, but with all due respect, Your Lordship, it seemed as though there was little interest in advancing their ground further than the demarcation line. There were attacks, yes, but no attempt to entrench a presence, which is odd when a force gains ground.”
“Then keep an eye on it,” the Marquis grumbled. “It could be that you are right, it could be that you are wrong, it could be that you are both… these are Daleks we are talking about… what I want to know is what you plan on doing for tomorrow.”
“We must secure the demarcation line and return to fortifying it overnight,” another officer said. She took the riding crop from her belt and used it to point to the space between two lines that ran parallel across the map in an unstable manner. “There must be maintenance done that has been neglected since the snowmelt—your yearly orders aside, little has been accomplished.”
“…and why might that be?”
“We are often distracted and the laborers required are shunted back to their previous positions as foot-soldiers,” the second officer admitted. “You know how limited our resources tend to be out here.”
“That is always a risk,” he nodded. “Why was I not informed of how heightened this risk became earlier?”
“We tried, but, there is a reason why you are here now and not in Castle Gallifrey.” The officer looked warily at her lord as he stood grouchily. “What is the matter, milord?”
“Go ahead and let me know of your plans once you’ve finished them,” he groused. “I’m going to the mess tent.”
“…why is that?”
“…to find some sanity.”
At that, he left the tent, cape billowing as he briskly walked through the torch-and-star-lit encampment. Many times since he began touring the fronts had the camp moved—a mile here and there as was necessary—yet it always was set up the same. Over four decades and he could make his way through the maze of tents blindfolded, though when the mess tent was involved, it was easier thanks to the warm, inviting smells that drifted from its tarpaulin. He drew back the cloth covering the entrance and, after a moment, the entire tent went silent, with hundreds of soldiers standing at attention.
“At-ease,” the Marquis announced, allowing the soldiers to return to their meals. He did not often take his meals in the mess tent, though it was not a foreign concept either. After collecting his rations from the cook, he found a spot to sit across from a certain medical officer, who seemed to be at her wit’s end.
“You arranged this, didn’t you?” she accused sourly. He sat down and adjusted his cape so that it covered his lap, appearing to have not heard her words. “I’m warning you, Johan—don’t go orchestrating Daleki invasions just because I’m off my honeymoon.”
“Whatever do you mean, Martha?” he replied. “You know that accusing the head of the Border Forces of such collusion without proof is punishable by a court-marshal, yes?”
“What I know is that you’re an idiot and probably think it is more fun this way.”
“The only fun one can have with a Dalek is teaching it to serve tea with a Kasterborsian service.” He noted that although the books and notes she had in front of her were fairly well-gone-through, her food remained barely touched. “Won’t you have an easier time of that in your tent?”
“I can’t be with my thoughts right now, you know that.” Without moving, she watched him as he ate his food, so nonchalant it was almost laughable. Going back to her notes, she decided to change the subject. “Hear from Clara lately?”
“Yes, but it was short. It was mostly the girls practicing their letters. How about you? Hear from Daniel?”
“Nothing you want to hear about.”
“I still write letters like that and it’s been many years; don’t think you’re the only one.” He saw as she raised an eyebrow at him. “It is only healthy for a husband to want his wife and a wife to want her husband, and any combination thereof.”
“Why the unwarranted words of wisdom?”
“You haven’t touched your chips—it is also criminal to take that big a helping of chips and then not touch even one.”
“I also just spent the past six and a half hours in surgery while under siege, trying to amputate an arm before the victim bled out, to no success. If anyone should be allowed to take chips and not touch them, it should be me.”
“That is fair.” The Marquis glanced around quickly, seeing how others were staring at them. They had long been the subject of interesting rumors, now even more so now that Medical Officer Jones had become Baroness Jones-Pink. He was at least glad that rumors about them being paramours had died down since he had given her husband to the wedding platform—it was bad enough the Baron and the Marchioness were formerly in love and yet left alone in Gallifrey with the utmost trust and discretion. “I know you share a tent—would you like to not eat those chips in mine? It will be hours before your brain calms enough for sleep and I am quiet enough.”
“Since when are you so worried about me?”
“One of my best physicians and surgeons looks ready to fall over—I’d be a poor Doctor if I simply let that happen in the mess tent, of all places.”
Exhaling heavily, she placed her papers inside her book as a marker and slammed the cover shut. “You obnoxious little Cybermat.”
“If you want Cybermats, I can more than send you to that front… you and Sargent Major Odoshi can share a tent even…”
“Don’t get cheeky now—I’ll tell Clara on you.”
“My wife is already fully aware of my cheek; you won’t be telling her anything new.” They brought their trays up to the cook and got paper to wrap their chips in. “We can reheat these easily enough.”
“Only because you have coals in your tent, like a proper bloody lord,” she teased. They left the mess tent and began to walk towards his tent, seeing that the sky was still the deep red-violet of Summer—even with the short night, true sunrise was not for hours yet. “Don’t you need sleep?”
“I’ll get some while you work, then you rest during the day, if you can, and I’ll make sure as few as possible find their way into your department tomorrow night.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
The rest of the way was silent, with him opening the tent flap for her when they arrived at their destination. He held back, however, to look at the guards.
“I’m going to attempt a nap while Medical Officer Jones is going through some notes where she won’t disturb others or be disturbed herself,” he explained. “Check in periodically to see if she needs anything, otherwise try to keep interruptions minimal.” The guards both nodded and he turned back into the tent, only for to feel as though both his hearts skipped beats.
There, on the ground, with a mess of discarded chips around her, was the Baroness. Unconscious.
Skaro’s sewers… this was far from good.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
It was the first truly warm day in Castle Gallifrey, with a cloudless sky and three children bouncing off the walls of the stuffy schoolroom. After a morning of pleas, the Baron Coal-on-the-Hill, tutor to the Earlessa Gallifrey and her younger sisters, relented; cheers erupted and the young girls gathered their things, for they were moving their studies outdoors.
Making sure a note was sent along to his charges’ mother, the Baron collected coursework and children alike and guided his class out onto the castle grounds. They were expansive and used well—aside from all the varying outbuildings, there were many gardens and clumps of trees in which they could spend their day. He chose a shaded area not being grazed by the castle’s livestock and all four of them settled down on the cool grass.
“This is lovely, Sir Daniel!” Lena beamed. Her tutor smirked—she was favoring that word as of late and it was amusing. “It’s much nicer here!”
“Can we have lots of classes outside?” Tara asked.
“Only if you three are good and work hard at your studies,” he said. “As long as you do that, I can talk to your mama and see if we can come out here more often—twice a week, if we’re lucky.”
“I wonder if we can get three times!” Lena gasped.
“Three’s a lot,” Astra marveled. She held up three fingers high above her head. “That’s almost my whole hand!”
“It is,” the Baron chuckled. “Now, let’s get back to our silent reading.” He went and begun helping them find their pages again, pretending to not notice as their mother came walking across the lawn towards them. She put their brother down and allowed him to stomp his own way over, the toddler interrupting the study session with a high-pitched shriek of joy as he crashed into his sisters.
“Sterling, now that’s not very nice,” the Marchioness giggled once she caught up. The boy plopped down on the grass and snuggled against his eldest sister’s skirts. “How are our little scholars doing?”
“I was just telling them that we might be able to make this a more regular thing if they keep their studies up,” the Baron reported. “Does Mama have objections, or should we wait for Papa’s opinion?”
“Mama trusts that her daughters’ behavior shall make that an easy decision,” the Marchioness said. The girls all fidgeted—it was up to them now. She then turned to the Baron and slipped into the ceremonial tongue. “Missing someone yet?”
“With every bolt and bone,” he replied heavily.
“Our offer still stands—it won’t take much to add one more for dinner.”
“…and as much as I appreciate it, I can’t impose like that, especially with your husband and my wife off to battle…”
“You worry too much…”
“Maybe I worry the precise amount.”
“Mama? Sir Daniel? You’re talking too fast,” Lena frowned. “I can’t tell what you’re saying.”
“You weren’t supposed to,” the Marchioness scolded gently.
“I guess our days of having a secret language have nearly come to a close,” the Baron sighed.
“Not entirely—there’s still Sterling,” the Marchioness reminded him. Movement caught the corner of her eye and she turned, seeing that one of the castle footmen was running towards them. “That’s odd…”
“Milady!” the footman gasped as he approached. “His Lordship has returned from the front!”
“Does he require my presence?” she asked sourly. The footman rested his hands on his knees as he stood there for a moment to catch his breath.
“No… but he did bring the Baroness with him and refuses to leave her side until her husband relieves him.”
“Oh no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,” the Baron panicked. He struggled to get to his feet, requiring a helping hand from the Marchioness. “Girls? Finish your reading and you’re done for the day. I have to go see Lady Martha.” He then rushed off towards the castle, barely taking the time to grab his things.
“We want to go visit too!” Lena insisted.
“Yes! Papa is there!” Astra added.
“Now girls…” their mother scolded. She bent down to pick up Sterling and when she righted herself again, found that her daughters were running after their tutor, books and papers and all.
The little Daleks!
Struggling to catch up while still balancing the now-squirming toddler on her hip, the Marchioness did not catch up in time to stop her children from being right on the Baron’s tail as he was led by a servant up to the family’s private wing and into one of the empty bedrooms. There, as plain as they were, sat the Marquis and the Baroness, the latter sitting in up in bed whilst the former occupied the chair at her bedside.
“Ah, there you are Daniel,” the Marquis noted. He stood, allowing the other man to take the chair. The Baron took one of his wife’s hands in both of his, with his young pupils dropping their studies so as to climb atop the foot of the bed. “What are you three doing here?”
“Is Lady Martha alright?” Lena asked.
“Yes, yes, I’m perfectly fine, all of you,” the Baroness insisted. The Marchioness had then caught up, allowing Sterling to drop to the floor and join his sisters. “Clara, tell them I’m fine!”
“What happened?” the Marchioness asked.
“I just fainted from a little bit of fatigue, is all,” the Baroness explained, face growing dark in blush. “We had been on the tail end of five Daleki raids in a row.”
“Not just fatigue,” the Marquis mentioned. She shot him a glare—he needed to be quiet.
“Martha,” the Baron pleaded, “what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong… it’s just…” She took note of the audience and furrowed her brow. “Can we have some privacy?”
“Given the circumstances, I believe that is wise,” the Marquis agreed. He clapped his hands together and then reached out towards his children, plucking his son off the mattress to place upon his shoulders. “Gather up your papers, starlets; we’ll find out soon enough.”
“…but Papa…”
“No buts, Tara. Let’s go.” He and the Marchioness were able to lead their brood out, shutting the door behind them to give the couple some true privacy.
“Johan is being incredibly sincere—what’s wrong?” the Baron noted.
“I already told you: nothing.”
“Then why did you faint at the border? Why did Johan escort you back here?”
“…because he’s an idiot.” She pouted as she realized her husband was far from accepting that as her answer. “He wanted to make certain I was safe.”
“Why?”
“I’ve not been resting or eating properly, or getting enough nutrients altogether,” the Baroness replied. “In fact, he threatened to relieve me of my duties for an entire year if I didn’t come to see you.”
“…why…?”
She took one of his hands and placed it on her midsection. “Apparently I’m ten weeks gone.”
Relief and joy both washed over the Baron, making him laugh and cry at once. “A baby?! Really?!” When his wife nodded, he leaned in and kissed her. “Johan was right to bring you back here, if the arse was ever right about anything.”
“Ugh, this is so embarrassing,” the Baroness groused, her grin ultimately betraying her. “I’m going to have a baby, not die.”
“Oi… you weren’t taking care of yourself properly for ten weeks!” the Baron retorted. He could not sound the least bit cross or upset—his wife was with child. “Even if you only found out at six, that’s still an entire month of not eating or sleeping right! That could have caused you both serious harm!”
“Since when are you an expert?”
“Since I listened to you complain about other women on the border not taking things seriously,” he reminded her, voice softening. “I do listen, you know.”
“Yeah… I know…”
“…and I want you to do what’s best, okay…?”
“You know I shall, especially now that I’m aware…”
“…which leads me into how were you not? I thought that was kind of obvious, or am I mistaking this for something else…?”
“What I thought was my cycle wasn’t—it was just some residual stuff,” she explained. “After the Violet Sky, gods willing, we’ll be parents.”
“I think it’s more the gods be damned,” he half-laughed. Tears began to genuinely flow from his eyes; ten years prior and he was being tortured within an inch of his life in the half-frozen hell that was Mondas, unsure if he would ever see humanity again, let alone if his would stay intact. Alone save for his memories of an increasingly-distant past, there were times where he was genuinely surprised he woke to the red-tinged noon. Now a survivor, a titled lord, a married man, and a soon-to-be father… he wept openly at his hard-begotten fortune.
“Come here,” the Baroness groaned. She watched as her husband kicked off his boots and went around to the other side of the bed, laying atop the bedding so that he was snugged against her side. “I promise that I’ll put in for leave soon—normal circumstances would mean I’d leave in the early Autumn, but I think that it’ll be safer for everyone involved if I leave in about a month, month and a half. That gives them time to find someone else to take my spot without having a drop in care quality.”
“Of course you’d be worrying about the others on the front—you are a doctor.”
“Not the Doctor, but I’ll take it.”
“I’m not of Kasterborous or Gallifrey—if a Doctor needs to sit in Hill House, then I know the perfect candidate."
“…and to think that as a girl I would dreamily stare at etchings of the Eleventh Marquis, wondering what it would have been like to travel with him, maybe even govern by his side,” she smirked. “Instead, his grandson brought me into his home so that I might be safe while my husband tutors the future Fourteenth Marchioness, showing me more kindness and mercy than some think him capable of.”
“The Eleventh Marquis…?” the Baron scowled. “The Tenth Doctor…? Really…? That’s a mood-killer if there was one.”
“My girlhood, not yours,” the Baroness teased. She pulled her husband closer to her and kissed him. “Now if only we can get Mum and Dad in the same room for long enough to tell them.”
“Oh, we’ll get them in the same room, it’s just a matter of it not devolving into a fight,” he half groaned, half laughed.
To think, he was considering something as mundane as squabbling in-laws and preparing for a baby and… oh…
“We need to write Hill House, and I need to get the girls ready to study without me for a while,” he realized. He hid his face in her side, muffling his own voice. “It doesn’t end at just telling your parents.”
“No, it doesn’t,” she said, “but at least we’re doing this together, supporting one another as we should.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
“Papa, Papa, is Lady Martha going to be alright?”
The Marquis glanced down at his eldest daughter, who was walking alongside him as the family was making their way to the nursery. He gently ushered his children into the room and had his daughters put away their schoolwork.
“I imagine she shall be,” he assured.
“Then why did you come back with her?” Astra wondered. “Is everything alright at the front?”
“No—I head back in the morning,” he explained, “but sometimes people are very stubborn, to the point that someone else needs to step in and make sure they do what they should.”
“…so like Mama when you’re grumpy,” Tara noted.
“…well… not exactly…”
“I think that is an excellent comparison,” the Marchioness said. She placed Sterling in his cot and went to her daughters and husband by the low table where their schoolwork was kept. “Lady Martha and your father are both titled ‘Doctor’ and, in a lot of ways, the role it brings one suits the other as well. They are very much alike, which is something both of them have realized over the years.”
“So then nothing’s wrong?” Lena asked.
“The only thing that’s wrong is that there are still Daleks attempting to invade our borders, and that shall not change any time soon,” the Marquis frowned. He bent down and kissed his heir’s forehead, which prompted his other daughters to insist on the same. “Now please give Mama and me some time to talk; if you’re good, we might go for a walk yet before dinner.”
“Okay!” all three girls said in unison. They went off to play, allowing their parents to step away for a moment, stepping into the corridor, yet still within sight as they left the door open.
“What is going on?” the Marchioness asked in the ceremonial tongue. “What happened?”
“Nothing much,” her husband replied. “It is just that Daniel and Martha shall know the joys we do, with their night sky clear and bright as day.” He glanced over towards their children, then back to her. “After the End Moon, I imagine.”
“Oh… so soon too!” She turned as she heard a door down the corridor open—the Baron stepped out, eyes and face wet with tears, and approached them, with his wife lingering by the door. They stepped out of view of the children, after which the Baron embraced the Marquis tightly.
“Thank you,” he said in the old way. He then switched back to common words, his voice already wavering. “Thank you for bringing her back.”
“Johan just told me,” the Marchioness said. “That’s wonderful news.” The Baron looked at his former love and smiled before drawing her into a separate hug, this one not just relieved, but melancholic as well. “It’s times like this that make me glad we were separated, as difficult as that was to go through.”
“I’d change a lot, yeah, but I wouldn’t change this,” he nodded.
It was something all of them could agree on.
Stars in A Sky of Blood and Blue - Part LVI
I finally found myself in a position to buy s1 of the Musketeers recently and hot dang I needed to write more Johan because PCap is waaayyy too fine as Richelieu.
Chapter Index - ff.net - AO3
Turning the Decade; It has nearly been an entire decade since the Marquis met his unexpected second bride on the wedding platform and it is about time they celebrate properly. [nobility/arranged marriage Whouffaldi AU]
Rough ages are as follows: Johan at 54, Clara at 35, Lena nearly 4, and Astra/Tara closing in on 2
It was the first warm day as winter was beginning to come to a close. Snow still blanketed the ground and ice hung from the eaves, yet it began to grow soft and melt in the strengthening Spring sun. With their twin daughters playing with toys on the rug and their eldest and heir with her tutor for half the day, the Marquis and Marchioness Kasterborous and Gallifrey were working diligently in their office, catching up on work that was now piling in thanks to the break in weather.
“This never feels as though it ends,” the Marchioness commented. She placed another correspondence—a denied building permit—into an envelope and addressed it before putting it atop another small stack. Her husband chuckled and shook his head.
“…and everyone wonders why I seem irritable,” he added. “With a work load like this, anyone would be.”
“This is true.” She glanced over at their daughters and sweetened her voice. “Girls? Could you please put Mama’s letters in the bag?”
“I do it, Mama!” Tara cheered. She jumped to her feet and stomped over towards her mother, taking the six envelopes and carefully bringing them across the room. A large burlap sack sat next to the door and she put the letters inside before returning to her dolls and blocks.
“Very good, Tara; thank you,” the Marchioness said.
“Welcome!” the girl beamed. She began stacking her blocks, giggling when the lopsided tower fell down.
“Maybe Lena has a future assistant across the nursery,” her mother noted. Her father, on the other hand, shrugged.
“Possibly, but if our daughters are anything like I was as a lad, then they are going to loathe paperwork sooner rather than later,” the Marquis said.
“Hah, and yet you sit in here willingly.”
“For I now have my moon and stars to light the way—no drudgery is too great.”
“Say that when we have another attempted filibuster of court,” the Marchioness laughed. She knew she was correct—the expression he wore confirmed as such—and let the subject be for the moment. They both went back to their work, only for there to be a knock at the door.
“Astra, starlet, see who that is,” the Marquis requested, not looking up from his correspondence. Both twins stood and went over to the door, opening it only to squeak in delight.
“Cook! Cook! Cook!” they cheered. The girls let the woman in, both receiving a biscuit from the Gallifreyan woman.
“Not that I disapprove of the visit, but what brings you up here?” the Marchioness wondered. “Is everything fine in the kitchens?”
“Splendid, milady,” the cook replied with a curtsey. She patted the twins on the head and gently eased them over towards their toys. “I simply came up to ask if you and His Lordship were planning on a ball soon.”
“A ball?” The Marchioness glanced at her husband, who still seemed thoroughly engaged in the letter in his hands. “Johan? Were you planning on hosting a ball?”
“Hmm…? Huh…? Oh, no, not us.” He shifted in his chair and pretended to go through the desk drawer. “Balls are for the frivolous and foolhardy. If you’ve noticed, we have no one complaining that we misjudge and misuse March funds and part of that is the distinct lack of balls that we host.”
“A ball to mark the Spring wouldn’t be bad now and then,” the Marchioness said, mulling the idea over. She then saw the look on the cook’s face and that it was clearly confused. “Yes…?”
“I didn’t think it would be for the Spring season, ma’am,” she said. “You have been Our Ladyship for nearly ten years now—wouldn’t you like to mark the occasion in the Gallifreyan manner?”
The Marchioness raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
“No, she would not,” the Marquis interrupted. He made to stand, yet his wife snapped her head in his direction.
“Sit.” He did and she turned her attention back towards the cook. “Go on.”
“The turning of a decade is often a great celebration in Gallifrey,” the cook explained.
“It is elsewhere as well.”
“Yes, but you know as I do that balls held within the walls of Castle Gallifrey are often amongst some of the best the kingdom has to offer,” she continued. “It would be well within your right to hold such an event—there has not been one since a celebration of the Eleventh Marquis and Tenth Doctor’s marriage to Lady Donna.”
“Since your lord grandfather?” The Marchioness looked at her husband and frowned. “Why not your parents?”
“That would assume that my mother stayed put long enough to host such an event,” he replied. “My father was a young lad when my grandparents threw their last ball—so young that he had not yet met my mother—and, based on other events we’ve had, I am safe in saying that I would not enjoy it.”
“A commemoration of our wedding would not be frivolous, especially if we use it well,” the Marchioness decided. “We did not wed in Castle Gallifrey as most of our forebears have and it is the least we can do to present the people with a celebration when before there was none.”
“…but Clara…”
“Johan, what are you so afraid of? Surely not a couple misers who are already displeased with our management and never shall be in a thousand years…” She turned towards the cook and gave her a thankful smile. “See if you can come up with an appropriate menu and I shall confer with you later.”
“Thank you milady, milord, my wee darlings.” The cook curtsied for the adults and waved for the children before leaving the office. Only Astra and Tara responded, following to the door so that they could wave her goodbye while their parents stared at one another.
“You know I do not do well within the construct of a society function,” the Marquis frowned. “Let Lena learn when she comes of-age, but I do my best to help those that matter, not kiss the arses of those who couldn’t be bothered.”
“Then let us make it a holiday,” the Marchioness shrugged. She stood and walked over to her husband’s desk, sliding down onto his lap with ease. He held her in place as she leaned on him and pressed a kiss to his hair. “A banquet for the courtiers and lesser lords, but a holiday for the small and middling folk; something tells me that they will not mind.”
“…so close to the Violet Night…?”
“Yes, now, if I go and organize this, will you at least attend or shall you be the most foolhardy one around by missing it?”
“I’ll go,” he muttered. He rubbed his whiskers against her neck, making her squirm in delight. “You shall pay dearly for this, Clara Oswald.”
“I count on it.”
“Mama! Mama! Wedder!” The Marquis and Marchioness saw Tara jumping up and down next to them, holding her hands high above her head. “Wedder peas!”
“Letter, please,” the Marchioness repeated slowly. Tara kept on bouncing, which made her shake her head and laugh. “Looks like the taskmaster is cracking her whip.”
“Then I shall take payment when the night is red and our overseer is sleeping soundly in the nursery,” he promised. The Marquis left a kiss on the back of his wife’s jaw before she stood, feeling satisfied when she gave him a flirtatious glance on her way back to her desk.
He was truly the most fortunate one in the entire land to have such a Moon and Stars in his life, and mayhaps bragging about it was precisely what he needed.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Whispers began making their way around the Earldom and City of Gallifrey, with the whispers becoming hearsay and the hearsay becoming rumors. By the time the snow was truly beginning to melt away and fill the March’s streams and ponds, speculation had reached its boiling point, with all eyes and ears on the Marquis and Marchioness’s court sessions. What was Her Ladyship planning and why was it so secretive?
Finally, one day, as the Marchioness was closing court, the people had their answer. She declared the tenth anniversary of her marriage to be a special holiday, with festivities to be planned the entire week afterward, leading up to when she first set eyes on Castle Gallifrey. They were to celebrate the March herself—the land they loved and toiled for—and thank the stars and gods for the continued stability they had all enjoyed during the decade prior. Ten years had gone by with scant protest, discontent, or repression, and that was always something to take pride in.
Word soon spread from the inner halls of Castle Gallifrey to the outer reaches of the March of Kasterborous. A holiday! They were already planning their summer festival, yet this… this was going to be special. News of the holiday was met with many nods and toasts of ale around the Earldom and March—their liege lady, second only to Her Highness the Queen, had certainly proven herself capable and talented during her tenure. Anyone who could melt the widowed Black Spectre’s Hearts was certainly no one to underestimate and she had proven her worth time and again many times after in many ways. If there were to be a governing council any time soon, it would certainly not arise from her faults.
Now, however, it was time to plan a party.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
“I am unsure of this, Clara,” the Marquis said, rethinking any prior enthusiasm he might have possessed. He had Lena perched on his shoulders and a twin in each arm, though his back was feeling the strain of such in earnest, as they stood outside on the castle grounds and watched as a large tent was pitched by the grounds staff.
“What are you worried about?” the Marchioness wondered. Glancing over at her husband, she could see him debate with himself the idea of putting their daughters down, then firmly entertaining it by placing Astra and Tara on the rain-soaked grass and plucking Lena from his shoulders. Gallifreyan genetics or not, he was still a man and men were good at growing weak backs under the weight of one child, let alone their three. The girls clung to their papa’s cape as the tent went up, their eyes wide as the canopy went higher and higher until it seemed as though it was impossibly high to their tiny selves.
“Isn’t this much?” he wondered.
“Not entirely,” she replied. “The Violet Sky and Violet Night are allowed many tents and stalls—let me have this, Johan. My first night in Gallifrey I took supper alone and went to sleep with you on the other side of the wall. Now I not only eat with my husband and children, but my bed is near always warm as well.”
“Does that justify a tent next to a grove of trees predating the Dalek Wars that will likely be teeming with the pudding-brained and inebriated in only three days’ time?”
“That it does.” She noticed a tug at her skirts and looked to see Lena staring up at her. “Yes, little one?”
“Sir Daniel says that this party is for you. Is that true, Mama?”
“Yes and no,” the Marchioness chuckled. “It is because I have been here for ten years, but also because these past ten years the March has been so kind and understanding that I want to show that I appreciate their acceptance of me this entire time.”
“What would have happened had they not ackcepted you?”
“Thing might have been more difficult for me, for your papa, while I governed. It might have become so bad that I was no longer allowed to govern, leaving the duty to only Papa. I would not be the Doctor then.”
“…but you Doctor, Mama!” Astra chimed in from the Marquis’s cape. “You almost not Doctor?”
“I could have not been the Doctor, you are correct,” she nodded. “The people chose to see that I am just as much the Doctor as your papa is, and that is because I chose to dedicate my life to Gallifrey and Kasterborous.”
“Why?”
The question was simple, yet it sent a chill through both the parents worse than the rallying cry of a Cyberan squadron.
“What do you mean?” the Marchioness asked.
“Why did you come here? Was it because you married Papa?”
“It is complicated, starlet, but for now the answer is ‘yes’,” the Marquis said. He masked his sadness from his daughters, yet his wife could see it plain as the tent in front of them. “Why don’t we let Mama finish here while we get ready for our nap?”
The children cheered and gave their mother hugs and kisses before bouncing their way along as they followed their father indoors. It was only after they were out of sight did the Marchioness realize what it was she was feeling, and that she did not know how she should deal with it.
She was feeling uncertainty.
It was almost laughable, she could admit inwardly while she watched the anchor lines get staked into the ground, that she should feel uncertain regarding anything. Yet here she was, fretting away over something in the back of her mind as she supervised the raising of the main tent, and it was enough to drive her up the castle walls. She refused to allow her mind time to wander until she inspected and signed-off on the setup, heading indoors to join her family for the tail end of the nap.
Once upon a time, back in the days when she was new to the March and Earldom, she was merely running away. It was not an entirely accurate description of being forced into a marriage devoid of passion entirely to save face and quell scandal, though it was the most concise she could gather as she made her way to the private wing. She found her husband in their chambers, reading quietly atop the bedding as their daughters napped on his legs.
“I was wondering if you had gotten lost,” he teased. He watched as she stood back, away from the bed, and panic began to set in. Once he was able to discard the book and free himself of the sleeping children, he went to her so quickly he nearly tripped on himself. “What is the matter?! “
“No… nothing is the matter,” she lied. “I’m simply lost in thought, is all.”
“What sort of thought?” He held her shoulders, giving her little choice but to look at him. “Was it about… Lena’s question…?”
She nodded in response. “What would I be like had we not wed? How would you have passed these years alone? If we had married now instead of ten years ago, would I still be the Doctor alongside you or would I simply be another outsider to stare at unnervingly?”
The Marquis remained silent for a moment, pondering his wife’s words. Sadness returned to his face, fleeing quickly as it came. He then eased himself down to his knees, holding her hands as he gazed up into her eyes.
“Do not think of the what-ifs and the could-have-beens, Clara,” he urged. “Gallifreyan children are taught from a very young age to not dwell, as dwelling is dangerous for those of us with longer lives. If there is anything I know about this decade with you at my side is that you are always full of surprises—excellent, brilliant, wonderful surprises—and that I would have no other in your place.”
“I was acting a child when my father decided to offer you my hand in marriage –you willingly met a disgrace on the wedding platform.” She frowned as he kissed her knuckles. “How did we get here?”
“That is easy,” he replied. He placed her hands on his face, having them hold him as he allowed his own hands to travel up her arms and to her shoulders. “Clara Oswald, Moon of my Blood-Red Night, Queen of my Hearts and Mother to my Stars, you are the most radiant light of them all, bathing all that surrounds you in your glory. Any lord, lady, or council should want your counsel in governance, yet I found myself the most fortunate of all with not only your talents for managing my people and lands, but the great care with which you afford my hearts. None of my forebears have been privy to such an honor and I can only hope our daughters find even half that in their lives.” He stood and held her close, kissing the top of her hair as her felt her embrace him back. “If only I had known back then…”
“Known what?”
He picked her up and spun a half-turn, making her squeak in surprise as he did so. The Marquis sank down onto the settee, pulling the Marchioness into his lap.
“If only I had known,” he repeated, “that I was not meeting a potential heir on the wedding platform, but my saving grace, the mother to my heir, and the one whom has kept me alive through her love and devotion.”
“You idiot,” she chuckled lowly. Tears were falling freely from her eyes now, no longer able to hold them back.
“Your idiot.”
“…and don’t you ever forget that.” She kissed him deeply, relishing the noises he made in response. Breaking the kiss, she allowed him to wander, his whiskers brushing against her skin. “After all this, however, there is one thing that I am soundly certain in.”
He kissed behind her ear. “What might that be?”
“…that I am home.”
“…a bit of the long way around,” he added. She playfully tapped the back of his head in response, allowing the two of them a moment’s-worth more feistiness before their issue overheard them and woke, realizing that now Mama and Papa were finally there.
Naptime was now over.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
The days grew longer and, eventually, the time came for the celebration of the Marquis and Marchioness’s wedding anniversary to begin. Opening the initial festival to all citizens and marchers, the governing couple stood atop a dais and thanked those in attendance—not only for being there on that day, but for being there for all the other days that had shown their liege lord and lady over the years that they were behind them. With the ceremonies complete, the week-long celebration began.
First there was a fair, where people from across the March came to play games and sell wares.
Then, there was a feast, which the Marchioness’s father attended and wept openly for his daughter’s fortunes.
Finally, there was the sky-rocket show, when said devices were lit from the top of a castle tower, launching high over the city and exploding into colorful patterns of light and smoke. The earlessa and her sisters watched in delight as the sky-rockets were launched, squealing excitedly at their grandfather as each rocket revealed its dazzling display against the violet twilight.
Their mother and father were nowhere to be found, however, as they were watching the sky-rockets from their chambers, utilizing the evening without needing to worry over their children as an excuse for some time alone. They sat curled together on the settee, having been moved closer to the window for the occasion, watching the show in blissful peace. There was a pause partway through the show to allow the soldiers on the castle tower time to clear the air and reload, during which the Marquis and Marchioness made their way to their bed. The lord tended lavishly to his wife, whilst the lady turned them around when the sky-rockets began again, allowing them both time to remind the other of how far they were from that lonely night ten years prior before the nursery was occupied once again.
To have and hold; to continue on, even when they are no more than names on the breath of elders.
Stars in A Sky of Blood and Blue - Part LIV
NO THIS FIC AIN’T DEAD YET
Just recently started coming to this blog and not sure about starting a 50+ chapter fic? No worries! There’s a chapter index here, complete with summaries for each chapter, and a list of the major original characters here. I am also open to questions/comments/concerns/whatever, so feel free to drop me a line!
Chapter Index - ff.net - AO3
A Lonely Lord; It does not take much to send the Marquis spiraling into his former self-loathing, as he quickly learns to his chagrin. [nobility/arranged marriage Whouffaldi AU]
It was on certain mornings that Johan Lonan, Lord Marquis of Kasterborous and Gallifrey, wondered how he ever fretted over becoming a husband and father. He woke at the sound of his daughter’s wails and went to the nursery, picking her up and gently hushing her as she ushered in the scarlet sunrise with her cries.
“There, there; Papa’s here my starlet,” he said soothingly. He patted her back and reached for the bottle of juice kept out overnight in case of the young earlessa rising early, giving it to her. A sip’s worth and the child spat the juice out as she continued to cry.
It was not hunger, nor her nappy, so her father reached his mind towards hers in an effort to solve the mystery. The babe’s mind was a muddled mess with no clear understanding of even her own desires. Her father sighed dejectedly and kissed her on the brow before carrying her back to his chambers.
“Clara?” he called out quietly, his voice still loud against the otherwise silent morning. “Clara, please, Lena is not well.” She did not move from her spot on the bed, clearly and soundly asleep. Her husband sat down next to her and gently shook her shoulder in an attempt to wake her. “Clara?”
“Not now, Johan,” she mumbled. Her voice was rough and warped, sounding vastly different from normal. Holding his hand a short distance from her face, the Marquis quickly determined that the Marchioness was breathing from her mouth instead of her nose as she usually did, bringing him cause to feel her forehead—incredibly warm, far warmer than it should have been. He felt Lena’s forehead as well and scowled.
The Marchioness and Earlessa had both fallen ill overnight, yet he was fit as ever.
Minutes passed of the lord gently bouncing his daughter in one arm while using the other to hold hands with his wife—steadily, silently—until a servant came walking in to wake her employers for the day. She saw the scene before her and quickly surmised what was happening.
“Is Her Ladyship ill, milord?” she asked in a curtsey.
“Fetch the physician—tell him it is both Her Ladyship the Marchioness and Her Ladyship the Earlessa. I am well for the time being.”
“At once, milord.”
A quick curtsey and she was gone.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
The physician came straight away and was able to catch the Marquis at the end of his breakfast.
“It is nothing more than a cold, milord, but a nasty, stubborn one that has been going around the city for the past few months,” the tiny man said. With the Marquis having already dressed and taken his breakfast in the nursery, he appeared the ominous force that he forever was, except this time with worry and concern worn instead of the customary lordly veneer. “Her Ladyships need plenty of rest and to be away from others. I suggest you stay away from them both for about two weeks as the sickness runs its course.”
“Stay away? From my wife and daughter? You’re mad.”
“Not mad, milord, but merely trying to be practical. If the marquisate stops because both you and Her Ladyship the Marchioness are ill, then there would be a terrible mess for when you return to your duties.”
It made enough sense, he supposed. “Have you alerted the staff?”
“They know that the only ones to break the quarantine are the ones who have already caught this sickness earlier in the season,” the physician replied with a nod. “I would recommend temporarily sleeping elsewhere until I give the all-clear; I have already given your staff a suggestion to prepare another room for you.”
“Good; come as often as you are able.”
“Twice a day, unless their symptoms become worse, gods forbid.”
The Marquis’s heart leapt in fear. “How likely is that?”
“The chances are negligible, but that doesn’t mean it is impossible. There was a day not too long ago that when asked if I were to be discussing with you the health of your wife and child, I would have laughed and told the person to stop dreaming impossible dreams. Physicians best work in improbables, just as Doctors do, milord.”
“Then how probable is it that they would take a turn for the worst?”
“At this point, I cannot tell, but given that Her Ladyship is rather healthy normally, I would say it is safe to be optimistic.”
“I want a full report every time you check in on them,” the lord ordered before turning away. His cape billowed behind him as he stormed off and made the trip down to his office alone. The days when he would regularly walk around Castle Gallifrey without the Marchioness felt far away, tugging at his hearts as he entered the office and found the stacks of papers on both his desk and his wife’s that had accumulated since they were last there. A clerk poked his head in cautiously and cleared his throat.
“Milord…? Are you ready for the day?”
“Yes.” Silence settled and the clerk became wary of his lord’s curt manner.
“Her Ladyship…?”
“Is not feeling well; now get whatever it is you need to bother me with and let’s start,” the Marquis growled. The clerk quickly retreated and the lord scowled grouchily; it was going to be a very long day.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Sunset came and stained the sky its brilliant red, bringing with it an end to the Marquis’s work in his office. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the lunch tray sitting on the table only half-eaten. His dinner was untouched as well, staring at him accusingly as he glanced at it along the edge of his vision. It was a return towards a form he never wanted to experience again, one that he put away when he began courting his wife in earnest, and it bothered him greatly.
His back straight and his gait long, he went throughout his castle and entered his private wing, finding footmen standing tentatively outside one of the bedchambers. Some carts were with them, bearing clothes and other necessities, waiting for his approval to begin.
“I took the liberty of preparing your former bedchamber, milord,” the most-senior of the footmen said. “If you will say the word, we can begin further placing your things in their proper places.”
Instead of verbally replying, the Marquis entered the bedchamber and glanced around. It was not much different than when he last left it, not long after the passing of his father and the following mourning period where the superstitious of his staff excised lingering spirits and blessed the room and everything in it to prepare for his entry into the lord’s chambers. Bed, sitting area, writing desk, bookshelves and wardrobes and cupboards… it was all as he remembered. Without turning, he beckoned the senior footman over, his gaze trained on the view from the window.
“Will it suit you, milord?” the footman wondered.
“It shall; I simply have not been in this room for a long time,” the Marquis admitted. He sat down at the desk and worked on some correspondences while the footmen brought his things in to be put away, making the space barely livable once more. By the time they were finished and had dispersed, he had surely decided that the accommodations were lacking, if only for that he did not have his wife at his side and their heir playing at their feet.
The wait was to be much longer than expected. Time was still the same as ever, though it did not feel anything other than slower than treacle on the Violet Sky.
Evening tea had come and gone, with the Marquis attempting to occupy his time accordingly. He was not tired—his worry made him far too energetic for such things—and he was incapable of focusing on written words for longer than a few moments at a time. Pacing the room did nothing to help, nor did reorganizing the shelves, compiling a mental inventory of his things, nor examining any of the portraits that decorated his former bedchamber. One day it would be his daughter’s room, when she became ready to leave the nursery, and the thought began to unnerve him.
What would she be like when she moved from the nursery into a proper bedchamber? Was there the chance she inherited his mother’s wanderlust and lack of civic duty? Would Lena have siblings, more testaments to the love he allowed to burn brightly for his wife and the love that she had given him in return? Did his wife even wish to bear more children, despite her welcoming attitude towards Lena? Would all their children, should there be more, get along?
Thoughts clouding his head, he gathered up his things and decided to clear his mind with a soak. He went down to the baths and entered the alcove reserved for him, quickly filling the tub with hot water and lavender scent to help him unwind. After slipping underneath the water long enough to wet his hair, he sat in the tub and tried to allow his muscles the chance to relax and feel better.
It wasn’t working, try as he might. The lord listened to the hollow sound of the bath alcove, antsy and lonely, finding that he no longer knew what to do with himself.
“Clara,” he pleaded to the empty room, “it has not yet been a day since I was told I cannot see you, and yet it feels as though much longer has passed. How I went the decades without you at my side… it is a mystery I once had the key to, though now it is lost. The Moon in my Sky, the Mother to my Stars… the realization of how easily I miss you terrifies me greatly.”
The bath did not answer him, instead continuing to echo every drip from the faucets at a disturbingly loud volume. He hurried to clean himself and removed himself from the bath—he was only going more mad in there—getting ready to head back towards his temporary quarters. It was late enough so all he did was put on his nightdress, leaving his day clothes in the basket and bringing it with him through the near-empty castle. The Marquis was nearly at his former bedchamber when he saw the physician come from seeing the Marchioness and Earlessa; rounds must have been completed for the night.
“Ah, there you are, milord,” the physician noticed. He did not seem to notice the Marquis’s damp hair or plain nightdress, which was likely for the better. “Her Ladyships are responding to their medication, it seems.”
“Does that mean they will be better sooner?”
“No—it means that they are progressing as planned.” The physician patted his lord on the arm supportively. “They have been mostly sleeping—would you like to see them while they are not active?”
The Marquis nodded and, after putting the basket of his things down in the corridor, silently followed the physician into his chambers. Lena’s cot had been taken from the nursery and placed near the Marchioness’s side, both of them slumbering peacefully in the crimson night as a maid sat nearby reading, so as to be ready at a moment’s notice. After using his fingers to place a kiss on his daughter’s brow, the Marquis turned towards his wife, holding her hand gently as he sat on the bed’s edge. He had a kiss for her as well, leaving it on her wrist as she slept.
“Mmmm… Johan…?” the Marchioness murmured. She was still asleep, though that did not stop her husband’s heart from skipping a beat.
“Yes, Clara?”
“Pass me that ledger—I think I read a number wrong.”
“Of course, dearest,” he replied. She quietly mumbled more things pertaining to their last session presiding over court before fully going back to sleep. He kissed her wrist and gently placed her arm down before leaving the room. Tears stung at his eyes as he shut the door. “How much longer until I can spend time with them while awake?”
“Not until the end of this week, at the least,” the physician said. “I still do not recommend spending the night in the same room after that, as it would be too long an exposure risk. Understand?”
The Marquis said nothing.
“Good; see you in the morning, milord.” He walked towards the entrance to the private wing, leaving the lord to haul his basket back in his temporary room alone. The man now had no more spirit, no more drive, to do anything at all that night. He left his bath things on the floor and let himself fall into the bedding.
One day was bad enough; how was he going to survive even one more, let alone at least another week?
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Time crawled by slowly, painfully, methodically. It ate at every waking moment the Marquis suffered through, it eating at his very sanity. This was not like waiting through a normal sickness, or even enduring a trip to the border, but something akin to what he assumed was a form of torture. Despite only staying on the opposite side of the corridor, he could barely see his wife and daughter, only stealing quick glances while they were asleep, and it was not enough. By the time he held court again, the lord was sour and mirthless, reminding most of the man they thought had been long-vanquished by the Marchioness’s love.
“I don’t have time for this,” he decided. The two village leaders in front of him were taken aback, their arguing paused at their liege lord’s admission.
“…but milord, you agreed to hear us,” the one leader said. She attempted to not cower when the Marquis directed all his ire into glaring at her. “What are we to do about the road that connects us? It will not be repaired at this rate.”
“The two of you should be in charge for a reason,” the Marquis sniped. “It is part of the highborns’ duties to use their positions to properly train their issue so that their line can continue to serve both their people and lands in a competent manner, on pain of disenfranchisement, expulsion from the upper echelons, and wholesale replacement in all levels of society… all that at the very least. Villages elect their leaders and representatives instead, correct?”
“Uh… correct…?”
“Therefore, you are, at least in theory, the most competent people from both your villages, able to gather enough wit and knowledge and cleverness to lead a small group, working alongside the leaders from other small groups, deal with the things that occur so that they do not become tedium for the ones in charge of much larger groups that your smaller groups are ultimately a part of, so on and so forth. Correct?”
The woman nodded; her counterpart remained frozen until he was also the recipient of the Marquis’s glare, at which he also nodded.
“Normally I would commend this, as governing is no easy or thank-filled task for anyone to bear, whether they have trained their whole lives or have simply found themselves in such a position, yet since the two of you cannot come to an agreement on your own and instead bother me with what should be a simple issue to solve concerning how to procure dirt, I assume the two of you are gracing my presence because the real leaders are both feeble of mind and body enough to remain home-bound.”
“Milord, I—” the second villager started, only to be cut off.
“Leave this court and do your job!” the Marquis shouted as he stood. “Oh, and don’t leave Gallifrey until you’ve left an outline of your plan with one of my clerks, so that I know you actually came to an agreement and aren’t simply ignoring the situation. Court is adjourned.”
“Is it a bit early to end for the day?” one of the lesser lords wondered. The glare went his way and he jumped in surprise, ultimately watching in silence as his liege lord continued on.
Storming his way through the castle, the Marquis decided it was best to sequester himself from the supreme fonts of irritation up in his quarters until further notice. He went into his temporary bedchamber and slammed the door behind him. A portrait fell from the wall and to the floor, nearly cracking the frame, yet he did not care. He went to the window and stared out of it, concentrating on the city below.
“Brains like thick pudding,” he growled to no one. “How they have gotten on in life is beyond comprehension. If they were in any other place in the kingdom, their local lord would have not even seen them, let alone demand proof that they came to terms over their issue before leaving the city. They are fools to test my patience when they know there is only a certain amount… an amount I don’t even need to share with them! The road has been repaired in the past—it should be little problem now.”
“Do you really have so little pity?” a voice answered. The Marquis knew it was his mind playing a trick, for his wife’s voice had been answering him for a couple days at that point.
“They can control their circumstances,” he replied. “The situation is entirely in their hands and they choose to squabble like children in my presence, thinking I shall be a doting parent to one while I chastise the other, and that they are the one ultimately in the right. Pity is for difficult choices and situations beyond one’s control, not this.”
“…and should we pity you?” the Marchioness’s voice chided. “A week alone has turned your empathy cold and demeanor sullen. Are you not a good man like your father?”
“My father was fire and terror, hiding his grief and rage behind a jester’s façade. I am my father’s son and therefore deserve no pity.”
“You are just as much a fool as they are, Johan Lonan. Do not sell yourself short in that regard; you are still my very foolish Doctor, no matter what transpires.”
“Great… now my insanity is against me.”
“Turn around, silly.” He did and saw the Marchioness sitting on the bed, holding their daughter in her arms. Had she been hidden by the drapery? Was she even there? Stepping forward, he approached her cautiously, knowing that seeing things was the next rung towards insanity. “Yes, it’s me—the physician said it was alright us to be around you again just this morning.”
“It was torture not being able to see you properly,” he confessed, kneeling in front of them. He cradled her face in one hand while placing the other on Lena’s sleeping brow. “You never felt so far away as you did this past week. Peeking in whilst you slept was not nearly enough.”
“If you were anyone else I would be concerned about that statement,” she chuckled. She then attempted to dodge a kiss from her husband, laughing as she did so. “We weren’t cleared for that yet!”
“I don’t care,” he said. “The pain of not being able to be with you is too much—almost like being unable to breathe—and to simply think of being apart without a proper distraction is unbearable.” He then kissed her deeply, holding her tenderly as he did so.
“Governance was not a proper distraction?”
“I could not concentrate on Lena’s needs when my mind began to wander, nor take my ire out on a soldier from Dalek or Cybera—it was droll.”
“If this is what you’re like when I am ill for a week, I’d hate to see you if we had to stay separate for a month, a year even.”
“It would be a living nightmare, as though I was widowed for a second time, stars in the sky forbid.” Lena then woke and began sniffling, holding out her hands, opening and closing them crankily. “See? The stars of my sky agrees; come Lena, I will show you your future bedchamber, for when you are ready to leave the nursery.” He took the babe in his arms and hushed her gently, standing so that he could wander the room.
He could finally stop going mad, he knew, and soon life would be something akin to normal. It truly could not arrive soon enough.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Well, things were nearly normal; almost soon as the Marchioness and her daughter were well again, the Marquis fell ill, having contracted the same sickness as the rest of his family. Mother and daughter presided over court, showing their subjects that they did not need the Marquis at their side to conduct business.
“This is ridiculous,” the Marchioness frowned. She looked from the one village leader to the other and back, repeating the process several times. “Do you seriously mean to waste my time with this?”
“With all due respect, milady, but your husband was not of much help during your time away from court, and although we attempted to come to terms ourselves, it hasn’t yet—” The man was cut off by his liege lady holding up a hand to silence him. “Yes…?”
“This case is thrown out on account of neither of you can pay attention,” the Marchioness said. She watched her daughter roll on the dais until she fell off onto a step, immediately crawling back up to the doll at her mother’s feet. “Right now I see more critical thinking skills out of my infant daughter than either of you—go, and don’t return unless you have something important.”
Switching to the ceremonial tongue, she then chided the complainants further, “If you ever try to circumvent my husband through me, or the opposite, I will make certain that you never want to see either of us ever again. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes,” the both replied in the old way.
“Good.” The Marchioness switched back before picking up Lena to bounce on her knee. “Now, who else wishes to bring forth their grievances? Deal with me now and we might sort through this mess before he is well again.”