@levinstrike
She has been crying for a long time now.
He could hear the little babe wail faintly from across the hall for the better part of the evening. Not loud enough to be a proper disturbance and with brief intermissions of silence inbetween, but still a constant sound of distress that has him wonder if he should go and address the issue himself, yet deciding against it time and time again. She is not his concern, he thinks, not his responsibility, and least of all someone he should care about. Nothing matters except his masters wishes.
She is still crying when he leaves whatever missives lay on his desk for the next day. He's tired, weary, bored most of all. He figures he could go and eat, or sleep. Were he here, Cidolfus would likely pester him to do the former at least once today, or perhaps he wouldn't, not with how things have been as of late.
It doesn't matter.
While he makes his way across the hall his steps, as always, lead him past Cidolfus' chambers. He turns his head when he finds the door ajar, a bit of light pooling at his feet, but it is not Cid he sees standing there. Not as surprising as one moght think, seeing as the Lord Commander headed out on a mission the night before and would likely not return before the early morning.
Dark eyes find those of a young woman walking up and down the room, holding a bundle against her chest, gently bouncing the small child within. Midadol. The king thinks, Mid, Cidolfus calls her. Barnabas hasn't seen much of her since Cidolfus brought her here a few weeks ago, since Cid introduced her to him.
Barnabas kept his distance from her afterwards, seeing no reason to darken Cid's doorway with his presence when things grow ever more tense between them as of late. He had not even held her when Cid asked him to. The child is of no interest to him. She's no Dominant. No asset to his master's plans. Although, he supposes she is another reason added for Cid's imminent desertion. Any day now.
Barnabas knows he'll leave soon. He has seen the signs and he knows his master plans for this. Plans to rid Waloed of her Lord Commander for a reason beyond the king's current understanding. He doesn't dare dwell too long on it, doesn't dare consider the way he feels about it either. It doesn't matter.
With Cidolfus out on a mission it makes sense to see the servant woman here. The king doesn't recognize her, but that is true for nearly all his subjects. She must be tasked to keep an eye on Midadol while Cidolfus is away, and yet the child is still crying, despite her best efforts to soothe her.
The king draws closer, pushing the door open. He raises a hand to silence the servant ere she can speak, not wanting to waste any time with her excuses. She immediately closes her mouth again, looking at him wide-eyed and afraid. They always do.
"What ails her?" He asks, indicating the little bundle the woman holds in her arms, not bothering to look up at the servant's face again just yet.
He doesn't see her expression change to reflect proper helplessness as he looks down at the distressed babe. The woman coos at her and shushes her a few more times before answering. "I do not know, your majesty. She's had a fever all day, and it finally broke an hour ago, yet she does not want to settle down." Barnabas in turn watches the babe cry, her red cheeks stained with tears, her mouth open to let out hoarse yet highpitched noises.
He hesitates, although his own face betrays nothing of the sort, his expression contemplative, yet unreadable. "Give her here," he says at last, offering out one hand.
He senses the reluctance in the woman long before he looks up to meet her eyes again with an unyielding gaze. It is admirable that her first instinct is to defy him, protect the little one from him and his darkness. Something old and painful twists inside him at that thought. The care and protectiveness that reminds him so starkly of his own mother stirring an age old sorrow that cuts even through the heavy veil of apathy that has befallen him of late.
But when he looks up she falters and moves immediately to carefully offer out the little girl still wailing as if in pain. He catches the scent of linen as the woman steps closer, a faint hint of spices, perhaps she works in the kitchen. Barnabas wouldn't know. It seems somewhat likely, for all the time Cid spends either eating or trying to convince him to do the same, that a woman he'd trust with his chosen daughter would be found working there.
She steps back immediately after he cradles the babe in his arms. "Leave us," he orders and she curtsies and with one last look over her shoulder rushes to do just that.
The king's attention has already settled on the girl again. She's still crying, although be it a little quieter, confused perhaps by the sudden change in rhythm with which she is carried across the floor, the king's pace equally slow, but the weight of his steps wholly different than that of the frantic servant.
He cannot quite fathom why Midadol would be soothed by his presence. There are few that don't fear him, few that would not choose to cower before him. Yet, he doesn't think what the babe is feeling amounts to fear at all. It is but a deep longing for her father.
"You miss him, little one, do you not?" He asks her, knowing full well she is not able to answer him. Barnabas smiles down at her as she blinks her eyes open at him only to quickly begin crying anew. He shushes her anew, still walking slow circles around the room. "I will, too, after he leaves." He tells her. It is a truth spoken from deep within him, one he has accepted as he has many others, but this one still feels the heaviest of them all. "But worry not. He will come back for you first, and then he will take you far away from here." Held to his chest and shoulder the little girl is now sniffling, no longer sobbing violently, but still unhappy, still crying.
It is not until after Midadol's sobs have faded into small hiccups that the king realizes he's been humming a tune under his breath. A melody he has not heard in ages. He falls silent suddenly, taken aback by his own unconscious decision to hum this song. It is one his mother used to sing for him when he was still but a boy. It's been so long since he's thought of it, so long since his mind conjured up a proper memory of her at all.
He feels the song fading into the back of his mind and he startles, startles the little girl, too. She starts crying once more, and the king has to wrestle his own selfcontrol back into place in order to try and get her to quiet down again.
He grasps at the notes of the tune in his mind, pulling it back from the haze of his consciousness where it threatens to dissipate into nothingness. But he does find it again at last, finds the words to it in the language of his homeland too, and relief unlike any other floods him.
He starts the song again, from the beginning this time, the words more mumbled than they are sung, they come back to him bit by bit, verse by verse. It's almost soothing him in the same way that it does the babe to speak the old tongue. The familiarity of it so all-encompassing and warm it nearly takes him out at the knees. He keeps his tune throughout the entirety of the song, faltering on occassion, his memory failing him, but he picks back up time and time again, his voice low and rumbling as it curls around a language this little girl has never heard before.
At last Midadol's crying eases entirely, the tension leaving her face and tiny body as she settles in his arms and into sleep. Barnabas cradles her against his chest, looking down at her lashes, her cheeks where moisture still clings. She's so small, so fragile. He sees why Cidolfus would want to keep her from harm. In all their time together Barnabas has understood one thing about him very quickly: Cidolfus would always be drawn to people unable to save themselves and do all he could to try and do it for them instead. Barnabas has seen it before with Benedikta, and now with Midadol as well. He figures in a way with himself, too.
He finds himself hoping that this time Cidolfus would succeed, for her sake as much as his own.
