princelock mystrade - a dilemma and a discussion
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You: Gregory didn't think he had ever dreaded anything in his life as much as he dreaded his summons to his husband's quarters as the page delivered it. Mycroft, Crown Prince, had not sent for him in some three weeks and Gregory had little doubt as to his intentions in doing so now. How could he not, after the conversation he had overhead just three days prior between his husband's two chief advisers? The king's health was grave, and Mycroft needed an heir now more than ever---an heir that Gregory had been unable to provide, despite years of effort. The word 'barren' was whispered behind curtains and closed doors. Maids clucking about, 'how sad' and elderly knights shaking their heads with a 'ought to have known a carrier could never manage it.' At first they had been simple enough to ignore, but as more and more time passed in which he failed to conceive he had started to despair. He and Mycroft had never spoken of it, of course, though Gregory could read the strain on his husband's face some nights. He had known, in those moments, that his time was running out, but he had not realized it was so near to expired until Mycroft stopped to send for him, and now those horrible overheard whispered snippets between advisers haunted him as he made his way across the hall to Mycroft's door. "Annulment will be simple enough..." said one. "...progress of the selection process for the consort?" asked the other. Surely the end was increasingly nigh. Mycroft must have called for him to announce his intentions regarding the whole sordid affair. His stomached churned. Would he be sent back to his father's kingdom used and in disgrace? Or perhaps Mycroft would expect him to remain---to continue to warm the crown prince's bed as a mere courtesan while another was given his crown and jewels and authority and the right to bear Mycroft's heir. He steeled himself one final time and raised a hand to knock on the door.
Stranger: The response was almost immediate. Almost. As if there was a moment's thought. And then, quiet and completely calm: "Enter, Gregory." The crown prince was by the window, long fingers of one hand resting idly on the neck of a cello to the side - unplayed, tonight, just there to touch, a conduit, an earth rod, perhaps - and the other clasped lightly behind his back. He was well dressed, of course - Mycroft was never anything less than impeccably turned out - but tonight's attire was almost bordering on casual, and he glanced around as the door opened. "Come in, love," he said, softly.
You: He let himself take a single moment sweep eyes over the scene that greeted him through the doorway before he did as he was directly, closing the door carefully behind him before offering a little half bow. Usually he would have immediately come in further---to Mycroft's side, likely---but tonight he hesitated, and in the end stayed were he was. The silence hung between them until he forced himself to clear his throat. "You had want of me, my lord?" he asked with a formality rarely seen between them in private.
Stranger: "Come here," Mycroft said again, turning to face him properly, one hand extended towards him. "I had need to speak with you, actually. Come, sit," he added, indicating the window seat by which he'd been standing.
You: He crossed the room with measured sets and wordlessly reached his own hand up to take Mycroft's and let him help him down into the seat. He fidgeted there for a moment before he seemed to collect himself once more, and he folded his hands neatly in his lap, eyes fixed on time.
Stranger: Mycroft paused a moment, then sat beside him, posture perfect as ever, turned a little to face him. "Gregory, I..." He paused a moment. Telling, really, that pause; his words were always measured, considered, premeditated, even. The crown prince was positively renowned for his rhetoric. "You're far from stupid, nor are you unobservant. I have no doubt you've heard whispers."
You: He wondered if he ought to confess to overhearing his husband's advisers, but after a moment decided to keep it to himself for now. And there had been plenty of other whispers. He drew a long shuddering breath in. "Yes," he confessed, very quietly, "I have heard them."
Stranger: "I thought as much," Mycroft said quietly, after a moment's pause. "Then I have no doubt you're... concerned, about your place here."
You: His hands clenched and unclench in his lap. "As you have just asserted, my lord. I am not stupid. It would be foolish indeed if I were not concerned." He did not raise his head.
Stranger: Mycroft sighed softly. "The advisors of the court are of the opinion I should be... making my efforts elsewhere." He made it sound entirely distasteful, as if the entire idea frankly sickened him. No doubt Gregory would realise it wasn't the idea of sex that repulsed him - their relationship prior to the past three months' difficulties ought to prove that. Well, godwilling, at least. Ordinary people, even special ones such as Gregory, could get awfully clouded by emotion sometimes.
You: It was difficult to know what to say in response to that. He had already known it, of course, but would could he possible say to oppose it? They were likely right. The kingdom would be better off by far if Mycroft were to have an heir. He could not dispute that, not matter how much he hated what it would mean for him and for Mycroft. He had once, not so long ago, been convinced that he and Mycroft might just be able to live out the rest of their lives in happiness together. "Will you heed their advice?"
Stranger: Mycroft sighed again, one hand reaching towards Gregory's clasped ones, hoping for one to hold. "I should," he said softly, "but I have a heart, Gregory, much as it may surprise you to know that. And I don't want there to be an end to us."
You: He let Mycroft take one his hand and was silent for a long moment. "I know that you have a heart, Mycroft," he said at length, very quietly. "But I flatter myself to think that I know you well enough to know that you are also practical." The uncertainty was crippling, a persistent ache that was growing every send more that it lingered.
Stranger: "I am," Mycroft said, squeezing his hand tight for a moment. "I have to be practical. The simple fact is, Gregory, one of us is barren..." This was near-sacriledge, daring to suggest it was the crown prince himself who might be. Nobody else would dare voice the thought - by heavens, nobody else would dare even think it. "If that be the case, there is a solution to our difficulties. Practical, but perhaps... distasteful."
You: He blinked rapidly at the suggestion that that lack of child might be a result of Mycroft's short comings instead of his own. He had never even considered such a possibility really, until this moment. "I will, of course, comply with your decisions on the matter," he managed once he'd recovered himself enough to speak, "Regardless of their... taste." he wasn't entirely sure anymore what Mycroft was suggesting. The suggestion of the crown prince's barrenness had rather thrown him for a loop.
Stranger: "You weren't my first, Gregory," Mycroft said, quietly, after a pause, and now he wasn't quite looking at him. "With the benefit of hindsight, unless I'm a very, very lucky man, I should have half a dozen bastards. I'm not wholly convinved it's you, love. Though of course, no-one must ever know."
You: Gregory's eyes widened, and he thought perhaps, he understood what Mycroft was suggesting, now, but he didn't speak yet in response. If this was something that Mycroft wanted done he would have to speak it first. Gregory certainly would not. He gave Mycroft's hand the smallest little squeeze.
Stranger: "I trust you implicitly and completely, Gregory," Mycroft whispered. "No-one, but no-one, must ever know this consideration was even tabled and discussed, but... Would you consider bearing another's child and claiming it mine?"
You: His breath caught at the very concept of it---he had lived his life in purity before their marriage, and nothing have ever seemed more abhorrent to him mind than the concept of occupying any bed save Mycroft's, but... this was different, wasn't it? This was Mycroft /asking/ him to consider such a thing. It was mind boggling, really. "I would... consider it." He answered in whisper of his own, "But it is... I am not yet sure I could..." He trailed off, face flushed and mind flustered. "You are so convinced the problem is your own?"
Stranger: "Certain," Mycroft sighed. "Or as certain as I possibly can be." He paused, stroking across the back of Gregory's hand. "There is a secondary option, though arguably no more palatable to either of us. If it were handled quietly, and the right palms were crossed, words whispered in ears, and so forth, we could probably escape without your involvement at all, and leave our marriage intact. Rather more risky than the first option, given the loss of nine months of visual evidence, but does free you up more for riding and fighting and so forth, and don't tell me you don't miss all those muddy outdoorsy pursuits, my dear."
You: He worried his bottom lip a little at this suggestion. Of course he could not deny that such an idea did appeal to him on some level---Mycroft was right, he missed the rugged freedom he'd once held---but the risks seemed astronomically more high. Especially in a castling where every servant was constantly whispering about everything. It would be nearly impossible to fake a pregnancy in such a situation, not to mention that the child would not be theirs at all---not even half theirs as in the first suggestion. "It will do no one any good to raise a child of different blood only to have claims made against his right to the throne when he comes of age," he said very very quietly.
Stranger: "No-one would ever know," Mycroft assured him gently. "I can be very, very discreet. And my word is law - second only to that of my father, and I could ensure his co-operation. He'd rather that than the... embarrassment. And I'd rather keep you."
You: His brow furrowed, not certain if he was reading Mycroft correctly. "This is your preference of the two then?" he asked softly. He wasn't certain if he was comfortable with the levels of discretion required for this. Mycroft could be kind to those he loved but ruthless, when the situation demanded it, towards others. He wouldn't be surprised if it involved a few flawlessly-executed assassinations. At least if some of the things that he overhead in court were indeed true.
Stranger: "I've watched you, love," Mycroft said quietly, looking at their joined hands. "You're no mere carrier, as the gossips in the halls would wish to believe. You're an advisor, an investigator, a fighter. You're bright and quick and curious and I more than likely bore you senseless a good half of the time. And you're a mother, true, someday, but they think that's all you are and I know different. Besides," he paused a moment, "you balked at the first suggestion."
You: He blushed a little, flattered by Mycroft's observations about him---he flattered himself as well, to take them as true. But he raised his head and looked Mycroft in the eyes for the first time to response to the last statement. "I have lived my life in opposition to such action as you suggested, Mycroft," he reminded gently, "Certainly, yes, that will take my mind some time to adjust to. To accept. If it were... planned, discussed enough, perhaps it would not seem so... disloyal."
Stranger: "It would, in a sense, be the greatest act of loyalty you could give me," Mycroft said quietly, nudging just a little closer to him. "And would keep us safe from the gossips. ... I have a suggestion as to the, ah, father, too, if you'd consider it."
You: He drew a deep breath and after a moment's more hesitation rested his head on his husband's shoulder. "I will consider it." He rasped after a moment of steadying himself. "I can---I cannot promise anything with regards to it. But I can consider it. Discuss it with you, if you wish. I---I do very much want to spare us the gossip. And the child too."
Stranger: Mycroft nodded, one arm coming up around his shoulders to hug him in close. "Think about it," he said gently. "I can ask no more of you than that."
You: He gave a little nod and took another calming breath, breathing in Mycroft's scent deeply. "Thank you." he raised a hand to lay it in the crook of Mycroft's arm. "What about you? This... me doing this will not be easy for you either."
Stranger: "But necessary," Mycroft said with a sigh. "I will put up with it, for the sake of our future and our child. Besides, if you're agreeable, it would be of my blood, indirectly. And the infidelity would be nothing more than carnal. It's your love I cherish, my dear..." He paused, glancing away, almost embarrassed at such obvious emotion. "If we could perhaps keep my sentimentality between us, however..."
You: Gregory's face was soft when he raised his head to look on his husband's face. "Of course. You know I would not share such a thing was others, Mycroft." He rested his head again and they just absorbed one another's presence for a handful of minutes, until Gregory found the courage to ask, "Who did you... who did you have in mind for... to be the other?"
Stranger: "My brother," Mycroft said simply, still holding him close. The younger prince was some seven years Mycroft's junior, but well past his own coming-of-age and a headstrong enough young man in his own right. He was brilliant, dark, snappish, and would do anything on God's earth for his elder brother, and both Mycroft and Gregory knew it.
You: He fought back the urge to wince as Sherlock was named and stayed perfectly still where he was, pressed tight against his husband. It seemed such a horrible thing to have to discuss, but he knew that this was only the beginning. "Have to considered any others? For.. backup?"
Stranger: Mycroft sighed softly. "I would rather Sherlock, because of the proper bloodline, at least, even if not my own... but you clearly have other ideas. Who would you prefer, love"?
You: He shook his head, but stayed close, "I only speak it because this sort it thing can be...hereditary. Passed perhaps somehow from you mother's line? Unless Sherlock has... bastards of his own already?"
Stranger: Mycroft shifted slightly, not wishing to disclose what indiscretions Sherlock may or may not have, even to his beloved Gregory who he trusted heart and soul. "Perhaps we should ask," he said lightly. "I confess, I haven't discussed this with him, either..."
You: "Alright," Gregory agreed right away, knowing when not to push his husband. "I understand. There would be no point to discuss it with him until it had been discussed with me."
Stranger: "No, quite," Mycroft murmured. "Would you like to discuss it with him? I still wouldn't want to pressure you into anything with which you were uncomfortable, but we could thrash out some hypotheticals, between us."
You: "I think I'd rather not speak of it with him at all, if I'm honest. Not until... not until it is closer to when... well." His grip on Mycroft's arm tightened. "I'm sorry. I know I'm being unreasonable. To expect you to speak with him about things I don't want to myself."
Stranger has disconnected.
