Correspondence
This entire fan fiction is probably going to be wrong in like a month’s time, but I miss Bardric, and I just wanted to write about him. Oh, and also, I decided to make General Arkland a straight-up villain in this story. So, if you don’t like reading about horrible parenting, please skip this. TW: emotional abuse and obtuse punishments.
Dearest Bardric
Astrea frowned, looking down at the piece of parchment. Her gaze flitted towards the scrap piece of paper with an address scrawled on it.
“I can't believe I won't see you for a month.” Astrea sighed, placing her head in the crook of Bardric's neck “I'll write to you as much as I can,” Bardric said calmly. Astrea pulled away to look at his face. “Are you sure you'll be alright? After—” Bardric cut her off with a kiss, “You worry too much, Dreadbane.” He dug around his pockets and handed her a crumpled piece of paper. “Just in case you need it, here's my address.” Astrea laughed. “The great Arkland is giving me scraps of paper instead of a neat roll of parchment?” Bardric rolled his eyes. “I've already packed my bags. This was all I could find.” Astrea’s hand instinctively clutched around Bardric's. “I'll be waiting for your letter.”
It had been a week since Astrea had returned to Wysteria Manor, and some things had improved. Her room was actually in the main house rather than near the cellar. Windworn had even allowed her to sit in the main dining room during mealtime. However, Windworn herself seemed stressed thanks to her recent… retirement. She paced around the house with seemingly no purpose, and it was clearly making the servants nervous. Astrea herself had tried to spend most of her time in her room or in the library in an attempt to avoid the increasingly ill-tempered Lady of the house.
She had hoped that Bardric's letters would brighten her spirits, but… he simply hadn't written. She didn't want to read too much into it. She knew his father disapproved of their courtship. But she had hoped for at least one letter before his father caught wind of it. She looked down at the two words she had scrawled. She dropped her quill in frustration, crumpled the paper, and threw it across the room.
Suddenly, a knock at her door made Astrea jump off her chair.
“Miss Astrea?” said a voice from the door.
“Yes. I mean, come in.” Astrea stammered. She was still getting used to being a part of the household.
The footman in a blue waistcoat gave her a stiff bow. “Lady Windworn is requesting your presence in her office.”
Astrea nodded. “I'll be there in a minute.”
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Astrea stared at the ornate oak door she had just knocked on. Hopefully, Windworn hadn't summoned her because she couldn't find anybody to yell at.
“Come in,” said a stern voice.
Astrea slowly walked in “Miss Windworn—”
“I'm no longer your headmistress.” Windworn snapped.
Astrea gulped, “My apologies, Lady Windworn.”
Windworn relaxed slightly. “I was catching up on my correspondence when I found this.” She held up an envelope with a familiar green seal.
Astrea froze. “Is that from General Arkland?”
Windworn nodded. “General Arkland wrote to me. However—” she tipped the envelope to reveal a neatly folded piece of parchment. “— the envelope had a surprise in it.” She held up the note. “It’s addressed to you.”
Astrea's trembling fingers grasped the letter. Windworn gave her a piercing stare. “The handwriting doesn't appear to be Razik's.”
Astrea gawked at Windworn. “Then—”
Windworn sighed, “I suggest you read that in your room. And be careful about who you show it to.”
Astrea nodded, trying to contain her excitement. She gave a quick curtsy to the lady seated in front of her. Then she dashed to her room, struggling not to unfurl the letter along the way.
Astrea quickly slammed her door shut and haphazardly opened the letter to be greeted by a familiar handwriting.
Dreadbane,
I hope Wysteria Manor is treating you well. This week has truly been tiresome. Father has been hosting several parties, no doubt in an attempt to fix the damage Rhiannon's massacre has caused. His paranoia about the resistance has reached new levels, I'm afraid. He has been extremely mindful of the letters going in and out of our home.
While this method of communication isn't ideal, I still wanted to inform you that you have been on my mind constantly.
I don't wish for this to be our final communication this winter. However, given the increased surveillance at my home, I request that you write to Flatcher instead. He will be able to relay your letters to me without my father's knowledge.
Yours Truly,
Bardric Arkland
The small smile that had crept onto Astrea's lips when she started reading the letter had widened into a grin. Her eyes fell on the crumpled letter lying in the corner of her room. She hastily smoothed out the parchment and started writing.
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A sharp knock rang out against the dark ebony door of Bardric's room. He blearily looked up from his desk with an open book about the Old Kings.
“Yes?” He asked.
The door opened silently as a pair of spotless black shoes appeared on the green carpet.
“Mr. Flatcher is here to see you. Shall I tell him you are… unable to accept visitors at this time?”
Bardric's heart rate spiked, but his face remained the perfect picture of calm. “No. Please send him up to my room.”
Had the butler been from a lower-ranking family, he might have raised an eyebrow. However, the Arklands only hired the best. So their butler merely bowed and replied, “Very well.”
A few moments later, Flatcher burst into the room and slammed the door shut.
“Will you keep it down?” Bardric snapped. “Just because my father isn't home doesn't mean no one is.”
“Sorry.” Blushed Flatcher.
Flatcher paused for a second. Then he said, “Are you doing alright?”
Bardric clenched his jaw and looked at the floor. “Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?”
Flatcher sank into the settee by Bardric's desk. “Well, your dad had you suspended from the Griffin Riding Club and banned you from attending any parties this winter. I really only see you during the morning training. Otherwise, you're holed up in your room.”
Flatcher paused. When Bardric gave no response, he sighed, “Is this because of what happened at Dawnslight?”
Bardric exhaled, finally lifting his gaze from the floor. “Father thinks I should stop speaking with her. And with Kennard leading Elderwood…”
“You think he'll rusticate her?”
Bardric shook his head. “She saved my father’s life. I don't think they'll make her leave, but I fear Kennard might try to stop us from talking to each other.”
“Speaking of talking to her,” Flatcher fished an envelope out of his vest. “Imagine my surprise when I got a letter from Wysteria Manor today. Mother thought I failed the Finals.”
Bardric laughed. It had been a while since he had. “Sorry, Flatch. I'll be sure to keep you in the loop next time.”
Flatcher handed Bardric the slightly folded envelope. Bardric looked down at the handwriting and smiled. How could a week and a half feel so long?
Flatcher wrung his hands nervously. “Do you er… want me to leave?”
Bardric shook his head. “You're my alibi. But… I think I'll read this by my bed.”
Fletcher nodded as Bardric crossed the room and sat on the luxurious green-gold linen quilt. He opened the envelope to find the now extremely crumpled letter from Astrea.
Dearest Bardric
I cannot express my elation at hearing from you. I'm sorry your father is forcing you to attend diplomatic dinners. I know you would much rather be studying or practicing your spells. On the bright side, I'm sure Steelbeak is happy to have his riding partner back.
Wysteria Manor is much homier than I imagined. All it took was taking down a Flamekeeper for Windworn to appreciate my worth, I suppose. I've been spending my time reading. Windworn’s collection is truly astounding. I have finished five books already.
Still, I find my mind often wandering to thoughts about you. Despite everything that happened after, dancing with you at the Dawnslight Gala was truly one of the happiest memories of my life. Erolis spells have become so much easier thanks to you.
I sent this letter to Flatcher as you suggested. I hope he doesn't attract your father's ire as a result of this. Write back when you can.
Astrea
Bardric had just finished reading the letter when a sharp knock came from his door. He quickly stuffed the letter into his pillowcase. The young Arkland didn't even have the chance to respond to the knock when a rather unwelcome face stepped into the room. Flatcher jumped up from the settee.
“General Arkland,” he gasped, “We were just—”
“I understand that you miss your friend Flatcher, but I should like to speak with my son alone.”
Flatcher nodded, then gave Razik a quick bow before scurrying out of the room. As he left, he glanced back at Bardric’s room to see a defiant gaze settle on the snow-haired boy’s features as his father’s face began to turn an ominous red.
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Astrea looked out onto the perfectly cobbled street by her room. Windworn had come to Guildtower for some official work and had decided to bring Astrea along. While she was certainly grateful that she wasn't cooped up in the Manor anymore, it hadn't really curbed her anxiety.
Astrea shook herself. “I need to get out of my head.”
She headed to the drawing room of Windworn's townhome and called for a horse.
“Where are the nearest riding grounds?” She asked the servant.
After quickly noting the instructions, she headed to the stables to collect her horse and then to the gardens to ride. Astrea numbly looked at the vendors out and around the town square. She wasn't really paying attention to them. Her mind was still elsewhere. For about a week, her correspondence with the youngest Arkland had actually gone rather smoothly. They had talked almost every day. But now it had been five days since they had talked. Astrea had been away from home for two of them, but she feared the worst.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a beautiful green garden, in perfect contrast to the city's increasingly cold air. The garden was perfectly manicured. With each bush seemingly planted with very precise intent. Although it was almost winter, the gardens were still blooming. Astrea led her horse towards one of the bushes in an attempt to distract herself from her misgivings.
She tried to connect with the magic protecting the grounds from the cold, but her mind wandered back to a certain frost-haired boy. She knew that he was probably busy with his obligations. Perhaps he was catching up with his Guildtower friends and hadn't found the time to write to her. She knew that there was mostly a mundane reason for his break. However, she still felt a knot in her stomach. What if General Arkland had found out about their communications?
Astrea hadn't even realized that her horse had wandered aimlessly with her on its back when a very familiar figure came into view. And as that happened, both riders quickly halted their horses.
“D-dreadbane?” gasped the other rider. His blue eyes widened at the sight of the girl in front of him.
“Bardric! I didn't—” Astrea started, but Bardric cut her off.
“We're not safe here. My entourage might find us at any moment. Follow me.”
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The dark, empty cave stood in stark contrast to the bright, sunny gardens that surrounded it. Bardric led his horse down the winding cavern until the entrance was no longer visible. Finally, he stopped, and so did Astrea. Astrea quickly hopped off her horse, but Bardric seemingly remained frozen on his saddle.
“What's wrong?” asked Astrea.
“Forgive me.” Bardric gave her a strained smile. “I haven't ridden this far in a while.”
Astrea frowned as she looked at Bardric, stiffly dropping the reins of his horse. The frown only deepened when she saw him clumsily dismount the horse, almost losing his balance as he landed on his feet. He quietly cursed and stood up straight. But something about his posture was off.
“Bardric,” Astrea said, walking towards him with quick strides, “tell me what's wrong.”
“Nothing. I think I simply trained too hard this morning.”
Astrea grabbed his hands and found they were shaking, seemingly locked in a stiff curve. He tried to pry them away to put them back in his pockets, only for his knees to buckle under his own weight. Astrea quickly grabbed him and stood him upright, but he cursed again, rocking his feet in his boots in an attempt to keep the front of his feet off the floor.
“Bardric, what in the six hells happened?”
Astrea gently leaned Bardric against the cave's uneven walls. He exhaled slowly, “It wasn't the brightest idea I've had. Hiding your letters in my pillow case.”
Astrea gulped. The pit in her stomach felt heavier than it had ever felt before. Her left hand snaked its way up to his face, which felt clammy and feverish. She gently coaxed him to look at her with his blue eyes. You could almost see the dark fogs of Timoros swirling around his irises.
“Father wasn't happy when he found them. He… thought I needed to understand the consequences of ‘consorting with a Dreadbane’ as he put it.”
Bardric sighed, jerkily shaking his head.
“It was the usual. Stand against the wall on my toes, holding the Arkland baton. He just… made me do it longer than usual.”
“How long?” Astrea murmured.
“From six in the morning to noon.”
Astrea formed her right hand into a fist. “Bardric, then why are you out here riding… wait, where's your griffin?”
Bardric whispered, “He took away my riding privileges.”
“This is all my fault.”
Bardric placed a shaky hand on Astrea's shoulder. “It's not your fault my father's an asshole.”
“Yes, it is. If I had never written back—”
“Then I would have been lonelier than before.”
Astrea looked at him curiously. “I thought you were attending balls every day.”
Bardric finally broke eye contact with the girl in front of him. “I said my father was hosting them. He usually had me… remain upstairs in my room.”
Astrea finally began to extract herself from her partner. Bardric looked at her quizzically.
“I should go. If your father catches wind of this, he'll…” Astrea trailed off, dreading what new punishment General Arkland would find.
Bardric pulled her back in. “He can't be any more furious than he already is.”
“Arkland…”
Bardric placed his paler-than-normal forehead against Astrea's. “Stay with me.”
“It's a pity we can't live here.” Astrea gestured around the cave, “Away from your father.”
Bardric gave her a weak smile. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”
Astrea laughed, putting an arm around him gently. “Just think. It'll be our little escape. We could just put the living room here.” She marked out a square in the air. “And of course we'd have a makeshift kitchen. I'll probably have to man that operation.” She smiled, pointing to another corner.
Bardric raised an eyebrow. “You remember that I was raised by an army man?”
Astrea stared smugly at him. “How do you use a kettle?”
“... Fair enough.”
“Then of course we need a dining room.” Astrea smiled, drawing another imaginary square near the kitchen
Bardric's hands hovered over her waist. “And what of … the bedroom?”
Astrea swatted him away playfully. “You scamp! Is that all you think about?”
Bardric laughed gently, tracing circles across her back. Astrea leaned in, enjoying the attention. They stood there for a while. Neither was willing to say anything to ruin the moment. Finally, Bardric pulled away with a sigh.
“I think the soldiers might send out a search party if I don't turn up soon.”
Astrea shook her head solemnly. “I don't want to send you back there.”
“You don't think I can handle myself?”
She gently massaged his sallow hands. “Are we talking about the guy I beat at strip poker after learning the rules just ten minutes before the match?”
“You didn't beat me!”
“You were one move away from being in your underwear.” Astrea rolled her eyes.
“I had a strategy!”
“Yes, a losing one.”
Bardric gently brushed his lips against hers. “We're a week away from returning to Elderwood. We'll see who ends up in their underwear.”
“It'll be you.” Astrea grinned.
For a moment, everything seemed fine. But soon her misgivings flared in the back of her head.
“I wish I could take you away right now,” she sighed, staring deep into the ocean blue eyes in front of her.
“As do I.”
They once again found themselves gazing into each other’s eyes in a trance, only to be interrupted when Bardric’s horse let out a loud whinny.
“I really must be going.” Bardric winced apologetically.
Astrea nodded sadly. She helped the boy onto his horse carefully. Finally, she opened her mouth once more, but quickly shut it again when the words simply wouldn’t come out.
Bardric grimly took the reins. “I'll head out first. Wait 10 minutes and then head out. I'll make sure I lead any of my men away from this area.”
He paused, looking at the somber expression on Astrea's face.
“One week,” he whispered reassuringly.
“Just… be safe,” Astrea croaked out, finally finding her voice again.
She watched as the lanky boy, clothed in the emerald green jacket, trotted away from her. She wanted to call him back. To ask him to come with her instead.
But she couldn't. Even after the young Arkland had disappeared, she stood still. Staring at her hands. Wishing she hadn't let him go.