Snow and Stone
by Lyra
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Taraesa could see the top of hillside just above: rocks jutting free from the sparse boggy grasses, all drenched in the limited colors of winter. Her breath was heavy in her chest, but she’d get there soon enough. It’s not as if it was that challenging of a walk, and she’d been taking it since she was a little girl, but it always seemed to push her just enough that when she reached the end she had to pause for a moment and let her body find it’s regular pace again.
It was always worth it. It was one of the few places she had left where she could be alone.
It wasn’t that she disliked company, indeed she treasured it, especially these days, and especially the company of those closest to her. But sometimes she felt if she didn’t take a moment or two to let nothing but the wind and the hills fill her ears, she wouldn’t hear the world properly for the rest of the day.
Her boots easily navigated the rocks and the bits of sunken ground, finally pulling her up to the top of the hillside. Taraesa sighed heavily, leaning back against a larger rock, taking a deep breathe in. It had been a wet winter thus far, the smell of snow on the air lingered, mingled with the scent of peat and moss that always filled the hills. She looked up at the sky. It wasn’t sunny, far from it in fact, but the sky above was such a bright grey she found herself squinting. It was uniformly pale, one color dragged across from end to end. It promised snow. She should turn back.
She looked over her shoulder, down the way she’d come. The castle wasn’t far, she wouldn’t have been allowed to travel far on her own like this anyway. She could see her home waiting below, tendrils of smoke wrapping around each other intimately and vanishing up into the sky. The old stones sat fixed and ageless as the rocks under them. She loved that castle. When she was little her father had told her stories about how it was formed, how it had sprung out of the mountain all on it’s own because her ancestors had taken such good care of the land and it’s people and the rocks wanted to thank them for all their love.
Her land was brisk, seemingly no matter what the season, and the sky was grey far more than it was clear. Rain and damp seemed to have a particular fondness for the hills, and while some might find that dreary and tiresome, Taraesa had always treasured it. The wind had a strength to it that she felt in her bones, the grey of the land merely added to the beauty and mystery of the treeless hills, and without the rain there would be not lakes, spanning quiet and secret in the valleys between the rough-cut mountains.
Whether it was the mountain or her ancestors, whoever had built the castle had the insight to fold it into a valley in such a way that the wind danced over it and never battered the walls. It was always warm enough, even on days such as this one, with fires always glowing in the hearths. Her grandfather had wanted modern heating installed when the concept first arose, but soon realized that the damage it would do to the structure wasn’t worth the risk. Besides, fires somehow always kept it warm enough, and proper windows with a good pass at insulating all the nooks and crannies went a long way. And she’d never minded heavy clothing.
From where she sat she could see the road leading away from the castle, winding along the hillsides and off out of sight, leading eventually back towards the cities and towns that lay beyond. Most weeks there were at least three trips into capital to see to what needed oversight and ensure a continued connection with all the working parts of the nation. Or time spent with committees, action groups, and legislation all requiring approval and understanding.
She’d be on that twisting road again in just a few days, headed for places a good deal more distant than the capital: all the way off to her husband’s homeland to watch her brother in law’s wedding just as he’d watched hers a season hence. She loved Ronan’s family, and visiting always promised a good helping of beer, fish, and men a good deal too tall to be acting like giddy children. But the truth was she always hated leaving home.
It was strange really, sometimes she felt like she’d grown from the mountains like that castle down below. She felt as if her hair grew at the same pace as the grasses on the hillsides, that her eyes mirrored the colors of the lakes each day, blue shifting and changing as they did. There was the inextinguishable sense that her bones were merely an extension of these rocks, the hills filling her up from the inside, giving her strength and substance. When she left home, she felt hollow, as if she’d left that foundation of herself behind and was left, just a girl, somehow standing without any bones to hold her upright.
With a sigh she righted herself again, breathe returned to it’s normal pace and the wind of the hills tossing the dark of her hair playfully side to side. She’d been gone long enough, Ronan would start to worry, especially now with the sky foretelling snow.
She got back just before lunch, bustling through the main doors and into the opening hall. The castle was busier than usual, especially today. As a child she always remembered the halls quiet, warm, and calm. As a rule they’d tried to keep it as low-staff as possible in those days, taking care of themselves much of the time. She’d learned how to make her own bed and fold her own clothes. She knew many royals couldn’t claim the same. She’d learned to fish and gut, cook enough to get by, how to make a fire, and navigate a treacherous hillside. Her family had always put value on such things.
She could still see her father’s face, crinkly eyes bright, black hair wild and slashed with grey, eyebrows thick and full of expression. “You’ll be a real Queen one day my girl,” he’d say. “You might not prance about with wrists so thin they can just hold their jewelry or a waist too small to give it a proper hold. But you can take care of yourself and that’s what really matters. You can’t go asking people to let someone care for them who can’t help himself, can you? And I’d rather make my bows to a lady who knows how it feels to carry a good load of firewood than some ponce who can barely lift his own cock to take a piss. Wouldn’t you, Hedgehog?”
That had been his name for her. She didn’t remember when it had started, but she’d always liked it, and a day didn’t go by that she missed the sound of it echoing in the halls.
“Snowing yet?” Molly asked, heading for her and getting her coat off her shoulders.
“Not yet,” Taraesa answered. “Soon, looks like.”
She shrugged out of her jacket, and Molly instantly handed her one of her thicker sweaters. It was fine and soft, but simple. One of the greater advantages to a more secluded existence was she only had to arrange herself “royally” when she was in the capital or hosting. Here it could be casual, comfortable, and above all, warm.
“Bloody weather,” Molly muttered. “And when you’ve got to soldier off to the ends of the earth as well.”
“It’s hardly the end of the earth,” Taraesa smiled, “just north, and not all that far.”
“If that’s what you say, your Majesty, but those angry mountains, cresting right into the stars, seems like as good of a place for the world to end as any.”
“Hey,” a voice called from the stairs, “we like our angry mountains.”
Ronan smiled down at them, with teeth and red hair brilliant against the grey of the castle: tall, broad. Hers.
He made it down the stairs in two steps. He skipped some. He always did, and he never seemed to notice it.
Before she could even get a word out he’d wrapped his arms around her ample waist, lifted her up high enough to kiss him, and the world fluttered out around her.
She was sure Molly was gaping, but it didn’t matter. She’d grown to like people gaping at them.
He was always warm, sometimes impossibly so. The smell of burned oak hung around him as it always did, mingling with that of pine and the woolen scent from his sweater. He held her as if it was nothing, like he always did. Her father had already been an old man when she was born and he’d often complained about lifting her up, but Ronan did it without thought and without pause. She could feel his beard starting to come in against her cheeks and wondered if he was letting it grow just for this trip back to his homeland. But she ignored it all, and kissed him back.
Finally he put her down, putting two hands on her cheeks. “You’re freezing! It’s too cold to go walking that high up.”
“It’s not that cold,” she insisted. “You shouldn’t worry.”
“I’ll worry exactly how and exactly when I like,” he smiled down at her teasingly. “Your Majesty.”
She punched his arm and he laughed at her, all brilliance and energy. He was thrilled, that much was obvious. At least there was that. She might not like to leave, but he was here with her always and not in his home any longer. This was his country now as well as hers. Maybe his excitement for visiting his homeland could help fill in her lack of it for leaving her own. Anyways, it was just a week, maybe two, and they’d be back again.
Molly dipped into a small bow. “I’ll just put these things away.”
“Yes, Molly, thank you,” Teraesa agreed and the girl hurried off down the halls.
“Snowing?” Ronan asked, reaching down to wrap his fingers around hers as they headed back up the stairs the way he’d come.
“Soon,” she answered.
“Good.”
“Good?” She laughed.
“Always,” Ronan smiled. “It’s lucky, snow before traveling days. That’s what we always say back home.”
“And why’s that?”
“Something about how you can see your footsteps,” Ronan answered. “Your friends can follow you if they need to, and you can always find your way back again.”
“Mm,” Taraesa hummed. “That’s actually rather nice.”
“Shocking I know, from such barbarians.”
She rolled her eyes at him playfully. “Very shocking.”
“Come on,” Ronan pressed. “Let’s eat.”
They moved through the halls together, down the long carpeted corridors and past the rushing bodies. The castle seemed to get busier and busier every season. When she was coroneted, after her father’s death, she’d been hardly ten years old. The staff had increased to make up for her lack of experience instantly. She’d made do with fewer advisors each year after that, but after last year, and the Midnight Broadcast, the need for good council became double what it had been. And then six months ago Ronan had come.
It was strange now to think that she’d ever been nervous around him, but she had been, almost terrified. A man who seemed more of a hunter than a prince, hands rough from fishing lines and axes, voice rugged and unfamiliar with eloquence. Then he’d smiled at her, meant it in a way she hadn’t seen since he father died, and the rest had been easy. For them at least. The nobles and politicians had presented a considerably larger challenge for him.
She’d worried in those early months, tried to shield him from their slander, but that was before she realized exactly how much he needed a challenge to throw himself against. There weren’t too many elk here to chase down or rugged cousins to best, but there was a court to master and a castle to run and now none of them could call him anything less than an exceptional consort.
He pushed open the door to the library stepping back to let her in first. They’d taken to having lunch on their own here. Her parents had done it before her and she liked the sense of tradition, that and an excuse to measure and manage all the elements of their lives that might slip away otherwise.
He’d made sure everything was set already, biscuits and tea and kippers. Exactly right, as usual. She collapsed into the nearest armchair with a sigh, toeing out of her boots as he settled in across from her.
“Another wedding,” he joked. “You’d think we’d all be sick of them by now.”
“You’re ecstatic.” She leveled leaning over to pour herself some tea.
“Alright, maybe I am. But it’s been too long since I had any good boar.”
“God, is that what we’ll be eating?”
“One from each of the cousins. Traditional. And delicious.”
Taraesa smiled into her cup. “I can’t wait to see how the little Marigemma rose reacts to that.”
“Ah, it won’t be all that bad.” Ronan grinned fondly. “I remember your face when I first walked in to your fine courts.”
“I couldn’t see your face past that snarled beard.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“It had fishing hooks in it.”
“Maybe a few.”
“And you had five axes.”
“Just the courtly axes.” He protested. “And I didn’t bring any boars.”
“Right, of course. All very normal,” she teased.
“But you didn’t run off into the hills,” he noted.
“Don’t think I wasn’t tempted.”
He tilted his head to one side, eyeing her playfully. “Still tempted?”
“I’m always tempted. But that’s nothing to do with you.”
Outside the wind was picking up, slashing against the old stones and the panes of the glass.
“Strange to think, isn’t it?” He murmured, eyeing the fire as it licked the stone walls of the hearth.
“What’s that?”
“It hasn’t been six months since we were married.”
“Not so strange,” she answered, keeping her stare out the window.
The truth was it seemed the most natural thing in the world for him to share her bed, her time, her responsibilities. He’d changed so much. She had been terrified at first, so many changes in such a short amount of time. But he filled in where she could not. He was brazen in all the ways she was reserved, social where she was reclusive, and he challenged her in a way she’d never known she needed.
“How’s the relief dinner going?” she asked.
Ronan hummed, leaning back into the armchair. “I’ve gotten the menu and the seating chart ordered. Took some doing. We apparently can’t have that Minister Rawlins anywhere near Minister Salmond or they won’t speak to either of us for another month. And Officer Steel wants to bring his new wife, who until six months ago was his mistress, which would deeply offend Representative Whitehall, so that’s a net to untangle, but it will all come together in time.”
She realized she was only half listening. Outside the window a few specks of white began to float past.
“Did the tarps and provisions make it to the camps today?” she asked.
Ronan followed her gaze out to the window, smile weakening against his face. “You’re worried about them.”
A short twinge of frustration lite up her chest. “Of course I’m worried about them.”
He held up a hand defensively, “Of course, I know, I know. And yes. There’s a notice for you saying as much.”
“That should be enough, shouldn’t it?” She asked.
Ronan sighed. “What, enough tarps and blankets to save half of Gloriaterra from winter’s bite. I can’t say. More keep coming. You know as well as I do. Each day the camps fill up further and new one’s crop up. They’ll run out of flatland soon and start climbing the hillsides and when that happens they’ll need even more provisions.”
The ember of frustration glowed inside her. “You’ve been speaking to the Ministers again.”
“Of course I have,” he answered. “I’m inviting them to this benefit, to pay for the continued relief efforts. The subject comes up.”
“They’re worried,” she said flatly. “They think I’m being foolish.”
“No,” Ronan sighed, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“Why not?” She found herself snapping. “It’s what everyone else is saying. The report last night from Marigemma said as much, and half the other nations agree. They think it’s foolish to give people safety, sanctuary. Why wouldn’t the Ministers think so as well?”
“Because they trust you,” Ronan said seriously. “You know that.”
Taraesa frowned, holding her tea closer. “Not all of them.”
“You’ll never have all of them. No ship ever heads out with every wind at it’s back or the sails would bust through.”
She stared into the fire. “If some think so now, how many will they win over in six months? A year?”
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But it won’t change who you are. You’re their Queen.”
“What do they say?” She asked suddenly.
He hesitated. “You know as well as I do.”
“I know, but what do they say to you? When you call them, talk to them, ask them about the benefit. What are they asking? What are the concerns?”
“It’s hardly important now,” he tried.
“It’s never been more important,” she broke in. “They will be asking me when the time comes. I need to be ready. I want to have answers.”
Ronan tightened his jaw, knitting his knuckles together on his knees. “They worry about resources. They worry about control. It’s been almost a year now, since they started entering the borders.”
“Since I opened the borders to them,” she corrected.
“Since then,” he conceded. “But the camps have become towns now, and some of those towns in a year might become cities. Vugge’s mountains cut across the Northern border. It’s hard land and not fit for much but rock. We’re hosting almost every refugee who steps out of Gloriaterra’s borders, and that comes at a cost.”
A cost no one seemed ready to let her forget. A cost that no one else seemed willing to share.
“So there is concern,” he continued. “It’s a drain on our resources even with the donations from the other nations. But above all there’s a fear for what might happen if this doesn’t stop. No one wants to see the chaos of Gloriaterra spread across our borders.”
“They’re here for peace,” she said, “to escape the fighting not to cause it.”
“Others might not be,” Ronan said, “at least that is the fear. There’s no government to hold responsible, no one to threaten with annexing of trade or violence if they wish to assert themselves past the border. If a rebel group pushes out and makes our foothills their sanctuary to gather force, we face a significant risk. And that’s a concern that presses at the minds of most.”
“They want their own country, not someone else’s.”
“For now.”
She nodded silently. She knew there was truth there, and she’d asked to hear it. She couldn’t seal it away and pretend it was nothing. None of them could.
Even if it left her sleepless, fearing dreams that were more darkness than anything else. Dreams full of a song she couldn’t place and could never remember upon waking.
“You’re doing what you can, and they know that,” Ronan continued gently. “They trust you, the ministers and the people. These concerns are valid, they deserve note, but what else would you do?”
The cup in her hands was smooth against the rough of her fingers. She traced the edges, back and forth. “There’s nothing else to do. They need help. They need a place to rest. How can I turn them away?”
He leaned forward suddenly, grasping one of her hands and kissing her knuckles. She looked at him, eyes hazy from distraction.
“Let’s not dwell,” he smiled, eyes still holding onto worry but charm winning it over. “We’re leaving tomorrow. We’ll be back soon enough. We’ll prepare remarks, get everything sorted, and make a plan for how this evolves.”
She squeezed his hand back, forcing a smile onto her cheeks. “Good.”
“Good,” he agreed, smiling wide, all white teeth and red hair. “Now don’t let your kippers get cold.”
She ate her lunch, all warmth and salt and substance, and they easily found other things to discuss. Fish was the selection for the fundraising dinner, fresh caught and brought in from the capital. The castle would need another pass on the restoration work before then, some of the more neglected guest quarters were beginning to draft. Ronan told her the names of all the mountains they would be passing through the next day, and each one seemed to have a different story of a different cousin, all beginning with copious amounts of beer and some mysterious beast off in the distance. But through it all she couldn’t seem to stop herself glancing at the window, watching the small flakes of snow drift past their world, constant, ceaseless, and each time she looked she couldn’t help but feel that there were more than had been.