Here’s a thought: A young petronille and younger Bonnie walking along the beaches of bambouche in the evening, finding shells and poking tide pools.
Spotting something large and darkless being hauled in along the waves.
A sail, maybe, balled up and forgotten by the thing which once held it above the water.
Cephalopod or shark, maybe, torn up and spat out by its home with no memory to define what it once was.
Still, they wander closer, curious.
Then, they are pulling it- no, them- to shore, waterlogged cloak and bright hair plastered to a cold forehead, pulse thrumming weakly beneath it all.
Petronille makes Bonnie go fetch defenders as she starts CPR demanding under her breath they live, live, live.
The first stars of the evening twinkle into view as the person coughs, retches, is turned so that they can expel the sea water from their lungs, shakes and shakes and breathes.
Bonnie returns with Defenders and a stretcher. The stranger is hurried away to the nearest House to rest and heal and live, live, live.
She tries to visit him a few days later and is turned away. He can’t have visitors yet, the housemaidens say. She tries again, a few days after that, but he’s already left. The maidens say he didn’t have a name. They say he didn’t speak, didn’t understand when spoken to. They say he had memory loss, brain damage maybe, but no head injury. She is as baffled as them.
They say when he was told he could leave, through drawings and gestures, he simply stood up and left, nothing but the clothes on his back, meandering until his darkless cloak was swallowed up by the horizon.
She does not see him again.
Until-
Years later-
She does.
Lightless cloak drifting back from whence it came. She thinks about a bright form dragged by the waves. She thinks about bright specks weaving in and out of the sky (she forgets).
She learns he saved Bonnie, found them and hauled them out of the grip of death time and time again. She learns they’re friends, family.
She learns that she, among the rest of her new family, has a brother, gifted to her by her sibling and the sea and the sky.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
N hoisted Cyn off the bed by spinning her around, causing the young girl to squeal in delight as for a moment she felt as if she was flying. He chuckled with her until he sat her back down on the now unfolded wheelchair. He knelt down and adjusted her legs so that they lay flat, being as gentle as possible.
Cyn had a condition that weakened the bones in her body, something about calcium not processing correctly in the body… he wasn't quite sure, everything the doctors had said went a little bit over his head. But he did know that her bones broke extremely easily, especially the ones in her legs, though every bone was fragile, it also effected her heart, making it weaker as well.
“Comfy?” He asked, cocking his head as Cyn rapidly nodded, before reaching over to her bed and putting the grey, felt blanket over her legs. N smiled up at her.
“Good! Off we go!” He spun around to grab at the handles before speeding off out the door and through the halls, causing his little sister to laugh uproariously. Despite his speed, he was being careful… extremely so, going quick, but no so quick he couldn't stop on a dime safely.
He strapped her in to the little elevator on the stairs and sent her down as he walked along side her, cracking a goofy joke or two to keep her laughing and keeping a smile on her face, Cyn’s little smile always seemed to reach her eyes when she was truly happy, making those amber eyes sparkle warmly at him.
When they reached the bottom they were off again, N running at speed through the halls, making several servants turn to look at them weirdly, but he didn't care, he was making his little sister happy.
Then they reached the door to the garden, and he stopped, a little out of breath, Cyn was too, out of breath from laughing too hard. Then she coughed, struggling hard to catch her breath, and N patted her back gently.
“Sorry… too much?”
“No! No! I'm-” she was interrupted by flurry of coughs, and a wheezing intake of breath that had N looking even more worried then before, his look softened until the coughing fit was over.
She leaned back for a moment the energy and wind knocked out of her before she turned to look at N and smiled, putting her small hand over his.
“M’Okay big brother.”
He nodded, opening the door and pushing her into the garden. Cyn smiled as the cool evening air hit her face, taking a deep breath, N pushed her down the ramp leading down to the fountain, reflecting the sun as it went down over the hills of the valley.
“Did Tessa do your hair this morning?” N asked as he pushed her past the neatly trimmed hedges and near where the rosebushes were, Cyn leaned forward and touched one of the healthy red flowers, her delicate fingers ghosting over the petals as she brought it up to her face to sniff.
“Did you know that red roses are known to represent true love, passion, and commitment? It's why people always give them out on dates.” She hummed speaking in the way she always did when she was repeating things she'd learned; Slightly robotic.
“You read that today?”
“Vanessa lent me one of her books.” Cyn snickered, putting a hand over her mouth. “She is a hopeless romantic.”
Cyn always had an extensive vocabulary, likely due in part to how much time she spent reading, she was intelligent, probably more so then N himself if he was being honest.
“Maybe don't tell her that to her face?” N suggested, laughing a little as he leaned over her shoulder, causing them both to laugh quietly. The moment was quiet, peaceful and she continued to look over the flowers intranced.
Until there was a shrill noise behind them and they both flinched, so much so that Cyn accidently snapped one of the flowers off it's stem and the beautiful head came to rest on her lap.
“My roses! What on earth do you two think you're doing?!” N whipped around, coming face to face with one Louisa Elliot, lady of the manor and N’s as well as the rest of the platinum headed siblings, adoptive parent.
“I-I'm sorry Mrs. Elliot- Ma’am, Cynthia hadn't been out of her room all day, and I wanted to show her around the garden.” His smile faltered before being forced back on his face by the woman's peircing brown eyes and dark, raven hair spun up in the world's tightest bun. Cyn remained turned towards the rose bush, N almost body blocking the wheelchair.
“And tear up my rose bush?!” Her voice was shrill, coated in aristocracy and grated even N's ears, but he didn't dare make a move or say a word.
“Uhm, n-no of course not, that's never the intent- ah!” In a split second, Louisa's hand reared back and caught him across the face. Hard. Tears pricked on the sides of his vision and Cyn herself winced, she didn't see it, but hearing it was enough.
“Don't talk back to me!” She huffed, and N stood stock still, his cheek red and already swelling, his hands balled into fists and stuck to his sides.
“A-apolgies, Mrs. Elliot.” He choked out, barely holding back his tears, mostly out of shock then anything else. Entire body trembling but still not making a move to go anywhere.
“Inside! Get away from my flowers!” She huffed before she walked off, her heals clicking on the cobblestones as she went back inside.
There was a tense silence, N's breath was coming out shaky as he slowly turned back to grip the handles, Cyn started to turn back to look at him, but he stopped her. “I'm alright, it didn't hurt.”
He lied, her nails had caught the flesh of his cheek and it was starting to bleed, but he didn't want Cyn to see that.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah! I'm a hundred percent okay!” He kept his normal tone, pushing Cyn past the fountain and inside, he moved quickly, strapping her into the elevator without turning his cheek to her, she tried to lean forward to look, but he was too fast.
He got her back into her room in record time, flashing her a smiled before setting her on the bed and quickly rushing to the bathroom to assess the damage to his face in the mirror.
He hissed as he looked at himself, two shallow cuts on his cheeks which were seeping out his life essence, the redness making it look a lot worse then it was, when he touched them he winced, looking at the smear of blood on his hand with apprehension. He'd really hoped he'd done a decent job in hiding the worst of it from Cyn.
It wasn't the first time he'd been hit. Far from it, it was a common thing, not enough to write home about, and certainly not the worst one he'd indured the six years he'd been adopted. There was no reason to cry over it.
But he did anyway, the shock of it happening with very little warning and the fact he was currently cracking into the medicine cabinet to disinfect the cuts with isopropyl alcohol made the tears come easily. He wasn't loud about it, they fell silently with the occasional drip of blood and runoff from the bottle. The only thing that gave him away was the shuddering intakes of breath that he was doing his best to be quiet about.
He worked on the wound, wiping the blood away as best as he could while his other hand rooted around the medicine cabinet for the bandaids, he'd found himself lucky enough that the scratches were close enough together to hide under a single thick bandage, so he stuck it on his cheek and looked at himself.
Hair disheveled, tears still forcing themselves down his face and slouching over the sink to steady his trembling frame.
He looked miserable, and he looked pathetic. Neither of which would do. He would have to see the rest of the family soon, if just to bring Cyn her dinner. And he'd rather not worry them… plus he had school tomorrow, he couldn't go looking like this.
He wiped his face, and took several calming breaths, even as his fist tightened slightly as the anger he was ignoring lashed out and hit him in the chest, causing him to growl slightly before continuing his breathing technique. The anger was temporary…
Until he opened his eyes, sorted out his hair with a brush and then cracked a smile in the mirror, it was sunshine, blinding, just like before. The illusion that everything was fine.
That was better…
Next ->
Give me a Reason: Chapter 7 - "Banter"
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
In homeroom t
