[fic][Vagrant Story] What Child
More Vagrant Story. Set...more than a few years after the end of the game. As a counterpoint to creepy kid!Sydney fic, have some Duke Bardorba. Just. Er. A different Duke Bardorba. If yannowhatimean.
The Duke stood at the window of his study, his arms folded behind his back and his eyes focused on the courtyard below. He waited.
He had never thought of it as his. Whenever there was a required meeting or someone asked where to find him, the answer was always: “In my father’s study.” It was a strange tick of his: he could scarcely remember his father, yet every inch of the room seemed to belong to the man. He had been intimidating force in his day, to the point of quite some infamy. The son didn’t ever really know what to make of this influence, only knowing that it clung more stubbornly than dust in the corners. Thus, in the history of the young man’s mastery of this household, no one could recall seeing him sit at that formidable desk. A knight entered, alone. Joshua Corinne Bardorba was still standing at the window, his narrow shoulders squared with readiness.
“Word from the capital?” The knight nodded. “Thank you. Please, let me see.” He took the letter in hand. He didn’t wear gloves, as was the common fashion in this day and this season. It was something that had worked often to a favor that the young lord wasn’t sure he appreciated: people so often loved to marvel at his hands. He took the letter opener from the desk and broke the seal, unfolding the parchment. It smelled crisp and dusty like fall and ash. “Your colors. They’re not standard. You are a member of the King’s Guard?”
The knight stood solidly. She seemed young. Young and stoic and with pale hair tied in an elaborate braid that went midway down her back. “This message comes directly from the King.”
Joshua stopped and stared. “Does it?” He turned the envelope back over and reexamined the wax he’d so carelessly slashed. “…I’m sorry, should’ve checked that…well, nothing for it. Has the situation escalated? I’d thought they’d quelled some of the conflict.” He began to read. “To Our Cousin, Dear to Our Heart….’ He wants me to send aid doesn’t he …oh.” The Duke’s eyes went wide. “Oh. This. This--” He gripped the side of the desk, trying not to completely make a fool of himself by doubling over it. It was a very tempting course to take.
“My lord?”
Oh, right. He wasn’t alone. Joshua glanced up through the mess his hair had made in his surprise. He pushed it back carefully and cleared his throat. “My cousin…is planning to abdicate?”
The bearer of the message barely blinked. “Is that what it says?”
“… you’re taking this well I see. Yes. Yes, that is--” the words dropped away into a wheeze, he lunged nearly wholly across the desk to grab the wineglass he’d forgotten he’d poured himself. He swallowed half of it in one bitter gulp and wiped his mouth with little heed for delicacy at this point. “Forgive me. My voice fails me. Yes. It says…” he smoothed out the paper. “He is unforgivably unpopular, he never wanted to be king anyway, he’ll be gone by sunrise, and he just felt he should inform me of this. Oh, oh. Also, he didn’t say that he is not his father. No, he chose to say that he is not my father. Oh, Lady of the--” Joshua caught himself. “Gods. God. Heavens above. He’s right. But what is he thinking?”
“That the next rule will be a better one?” suggested the knight, reminding the Duke that, once again, he was in fact ranting off in front of company. Joshua let out a long sigh, and stood back from the desk, rubbing his temples. “That the people would prefer--”
“Would that it were so beautifully simple. You’re very calm for someone who may be out of a job for quite some time, by the way. If my cousin abdicates his son would rule, if the young Prince hadn’t died a year ago of a rotting of the bones-runs in the family, you know. I had a brother who died of that. The only heir is a five year old princess of questionable parentage. In any case, Parliament will use this as an opportunity to put one of their men in power. The Church will, no doubt, use this as an opportunity to intercede. It’ll come to blows and what the people have to say about this will not matter in the slightest. There will only be death. Death, death, and war. No. The next rule will not be a better one.” He remembered to take another breath.
“Well prophesized,” agreed the knight. “But I was going to say ‘that the people would prefer you’.”
She may have grown a second face. Joshua Bardorba certainly looked at her hard enough as though he’d meant to check. “…apologies,” he said, lamely. He had interrupted her.
“A writer by the name of Corin Hardin once wrote, ‘one who catches a dove in too hard a hand will crush it, one who catches a dove in too light a hand will see it fly away.’”
“…where did you read something like that?”
“A bar.”
Joshua laughed, despite himself. “Good place for it! It’s been years since I wrote that. Been years since I’ve used that name, come to it. Has my identity become so transparent, that people will now cannily quote it back at me? I’m not sure how I feel about that. What are you saying, Lady.”
“That my lord knows the proper way of catching birds.” She turned her head to gaze out the window behind him. “Also, that you talk a lot.”
“Also,” he added for her. “That a member of the King’s Guard has come into my father’s study with a letter from a king…”
The woman spread her arms for the first time since she had walked in. It gave her a rather impressive span. "With the intention to return with the king.” She bowed, she knelt. “Return with me, Joshua Corinne Bardorba.”
She’d vanished behind the desk with that one. The young Duke had to circle around it, to see her again. He put his hand on his legs and looked down at her, bending a bit at the waist. It didn’t take him down very far. He was tall. He’d been tall since his fourteenth birthday. “Good in theory,” he said softly. “But.” He raised a finger, and shook it chidingly. “Not so easy. How would I get there, without being detained? How would I get my cousin’s ring, the proof of my so-called inheritance, when he is probably locked in his inner chambers, waiting for the entourage to come aid in his flight? If he has not already left. How am I to know that I am the first to get word of this? And how am I to know this word is even, in truth, his?” Joshua Bardorba stood straight with a graceful roll of his shoulders. His eyes were suddenly steely. “I did not see you come in through the courtyard.”
“My lord must have missed me.”
“I think not. I’ve been standing there for the last three hours. You didn’t answer me when I asked if you were part of the King’s Guard.” The woman smiled. It was a strange, crooked smile. One of her eyes looked oddly dark. Joshua resisted the urge to blink. They had been pale before, hadn’t they--
“You’re a very bright boy, Joshua,” she said.
She stood.
And she stood. When she’d entered the study, Joshua remembered she’d roughly come up to his collar, at best. Now they were at eyelevel, and she wasn’t smiling, she was smirking. She held out her hand and dumbly Joshua opened his. She plunked the ring right into it. It had the crest of the royal family and the engravings from the scriptures and the gem itself, shining palely, endlessly warm.
“I was a member of the King’s Guard, actually,” said the lady knight, suddenly no longer the knight or the lady, but a broad-shouldered man in a long black coat. “Depending on who you ask. I spoke to His Former Majesty approximately a half hour ago, by the way. It would’ve been less, but your men needed convincing and you do talk a lot. I suppose that runs in the family too, along with the bone rot?”
Someone was scratching at the door. Joshua could hear it. It sounded like fingers, with the musical clink of metal against the outside handle.
“I should answer that…” began the young Duke, numbly.
“Don’t encourage him,” said the man in the black coat. He turned, and then raised a hand, as though something had just occurred to him. “He’s nagging. Take this.” Heavens knew where he’d drawn the sword from, but suddenly he was holding it, and suddenly he’d handed that to Joshua in addition the ring. Joshua held this with some sense of which end was supposed to go where. He wasn’t a fool, and he’d had lessons. “That’s it, I believe?”
“…” was all that the he could think to say.
The man regarded him with arched eyebrows and a quirk in the corner of his mouth that seemed to hold a distant, and fond recognition. “I mean: are you ready to go?”
“To where?”
“He must ask.”
“To…to the capital? Wh…how--”
The hand on his head silenced him. “Gather thy wits,” said the Vagrant. “You’ll be needing them soon.” He began to murmur softly, brought two fingers to his brow. Drew them down over his face. “Delta-Eckiss,” he finished, the whole room seemed set aglow. “Godspeed,” he mouthed, looking terribly amused…
…and that was all before Joshua found himself standing on the floor of a cathedral he’d last been it more than a year ago. He had a sword in one hand, a ring clenched in the other, a letter shoved into his belt, and very confused old priest standing by him, holding an old oil lamp next to his head. Joshua looked at that small swaying light; he could hear the sound of rain on the steps outside, as well as the more distant cries of the mobs, no doubt still massing about the gates of the castle. He was also completely whole-which seemed odd, since the process had felt a little like being scattered into a thousand pieces on the wind.
“Who, who enters…” wavered the priest.
The young king held up his ring.
“Oh,” breathed the priest.
“Yes,” said Joshua, finding his voice again. “That appears to be the case, doesn’t it?”
The Duke stood at the window of his study, his arms folded behind his back and his eyes focused on the courtyard below. He waited.
He had never thought of it as his. Whenever there was a required meeting or someone asked where to find him, the answer was always: “In my father’s study.” It was a strange tick of his: he could scarcely remember his father, yet every inch of the room seemed to belong to the man. He had been intimidating force in his day, to the point of quite some infamy. The son didn’t ever really know what to make of this influence, only knowing that it clung more stubbornly than dust in the corners. Thus, in the history of the young man’s mastery of this household, no one could recall seeing him sit at that formidable desk. A knight entered, alone. Joshua Corinne Bardorba was still standing at the window, his narrow shoulders squared with readiness.
“Word from the capital?” The knight nodded. “Thank you. Please, let me see.” He took the letter in hand. He didn’t wear gloves, as was the common fashion in this day and this season. It was something that had worked often to a favor that the young lord wasn’t sure he appreciated: people so often loved to marvel at his hands. He took the letter opener from the desk and broke the seal, unfolding the parchment. It smelled crisp and dusty like fall and ash. “Your colors. They’re not standard. You are a member of the King’s Guard?”
The knight stood solidly. She seemed young. Young and stoic and with pale hair tied in an elaborate braid that went midway down her back. “This message comes directly from the King.”
Joshua stopped and stared. “Does it?” He turned the envelope back over and reexamined the wax he’d so carelessly slashed. “…I’m sorry, should’ve checked that…well, nothing for it. Has the situation escalated? I’d thought they’d quelled some of the conflict.” He began to read. “To Our Cousin, Dear to Our Heart….’ He wants me to send aid doesn’t he …oh.” The Duke’s eyes went wide. “Oh. This. This--” He gripped the side of the desk, trying not to completely make a fool of himself by doubling over it. It was a very tempting course to take.
“My lord?”
Oh, right. He wasn’t alone. Joshua glanced up through the mess his hair had made in his surprise. He pushed it back carefully and cleared his throat. “My cousin…is planning to abdicate?”
The bearer of the message barely blinked. “Is that what it says?”
“… you’re taking this well I see. Yes. Yes, that is--” the words dropped away into a wheeze, he lunged nearly wholly across the desk to grab the wineglass he’d forgotten he’d poured himself. He swallowed half of it in one bitter gulp and wiped his mouth with little heed for delicacy at this point. “Forgive me. My voice fails me. Yes. It says…” he smoothed out the paper. “He is unforgivably unpopular, he never wanted to be king anyway, he’ll be gone by sunrise, and he just felt he should inform me of this. Oh, oh. Also, he didn’t say that he is not his father. No, he chose to say that he is not my father. Oh, Lady of the--” Joshua caught himself. “Gods. God. Heavens above. He’s right. But what is he thinking?”
“That the next rule will be a better one?” suggested the knight, reminding the Duke that, once again, he was in fact ranting off in front of company. Joshua let out a long sigh, and stood back from the desk, rubbing his temples. “That the people would prefer--”
“Would that it were so beautifully simple. You’re very calm for someone who may be out of a job for quite some time, by the way. If my cousin abdicates his son would rule, if the young Prince hadn’t died a year ago of a rotting of the bones-runs in the family, you know. I had a brother who died of that. The only heir is a five year old princess of questionable parentage. In any case, Parliament will use this as an opportunity to put one of their men in power. The Church will, no doubt, use this as an opportunity to intercede. It’ll come to blows and what the people have to say about this will not matter in the slightest. There will only be death. Death, death, and war. No. The next rule will not be a better one.” He remembered to take another breath.
“Well prophesized,” agreed the knight. “But I was going to say ‘that the people would prefer you’.”
She may have grown a second face. Joshua Bardorba certainly looked at her hard enough as though he’d meant to check. “…apologies,” he said, lamely. He had interrupted her.
“A writer by the name of Corin Hardin once wrote, ‘one who catches a dove in too hard a hand will crush it, one who catches a dove in too light a hand will see it fly away.’”
“…where did you read something like that?”
“A bar.”
Joshua laughed, despite himself. “Good place for it! It’s been years since I wrote that. Been years since I’ve used that name, come to it. Has my identity become so transparent, that people will now cannily quote it back at me? I’m not sure how I feel about that. What are you saying, Lady.”
“That my lord knows the proper way of catching birds.” She turned her head to gaze out the window behind him. “Also, that you talk a lot.”
“Also,” he added for her. “That a member of the King’s Guard has come into my father’s study with a letter from a king…”
The woman spread her arms for the first time since she had walked in. It gave her a rather impressive span. "With the intention to return with the king.” She bowed, she knelt. “Return with me, Joshua Corinne Bardorba.”
She’d vanished behind the desk with that one. The young Duke had to circle around it, to see her again. He put his hand on his legs and looked down at her, bending a bit at the waist. It didn’t take him down very far. He was tall. He’d been tall since his fourteenth birthday. “Good in theory,” he said softly. “But.” He raised a finger, and shook it chidingly. “Not so easy. How would I get there, without being detained? How would I get my cousin’s ring, the proof of my so-called inheritance, when he is probably locked in his inner chambers, waiting for the entourage to come aid in his flight? If he has not already left. How am I to know that I am the first to get word of this? And how am I to know this word is even, in truth, his?” Joshua Bardorba stood straight with a graceful roll of his shoulders. His eyes were suddenly steely. “I did not see you come in through the courtyard.”
“My lord must have missed me.”
“I think not. I’ve been standing there for the last three hours. You didn’t answer me when I asked if you were part of the King’s Guard.” The woman smiled. It was a strange, crooked smile. One of her eyes looked oddly dark. Joshua resisted the urge to blink. They had been pale before, hadn’t they--
“You’re a very bright boy, Joshua,” she said.
She stood.
And she stood. When she’d entered the study, Joshua remembered she’d roughly come up to his collar, at best. Now they were at eyelevel, and she wasn’t smiling, she was smirking. She held out her hand and dumbly Joshua opened his. She plunked the ring right into it. It had the crest of the royal family and the engravings from the scriptures and the gem itself, shining palely, endlessly warm.
“I was a member of the King’s Guard, actually,” said the lady knight, suddenly no longer the knight or the lady, but a broad-shouldered man in a long black coat. “Depending on who you ask. I spoke to His Former Majesty approximately a half hour ago, by the way. It would’ve been less, but your men needed convincing and you do talk a lot. I suppose that runs in the family too, along with the bone rot?”
Someone was scratching at the door. Joshua could hear it. It sounded like fingers, with the musical clink of metal against the outside handle.
“I should answer that…” began the young Duke, numbly.
“Don’t encourage him,” said the man in the black coat. He turned, and then raised a hand, as though something had just occurred to him. “He’s nagging. Take this.” Heavens knew where he’d drawn the sword from, but suddenly he was holding it, and suddenly he’d handed that to Joshua in addition the ring. Joshua held this with some sense of which end was supposed to go where. He wasn’t a fool, and he’d had lessons. “That’s it, I believe?”
“…” was all that the he could think to say.
The man regarded him with arched eyebrows and a quirk in the corner of his mouth that seemed to hold a distant, and fond recognition. “I mean: are you ready to go?”
“To where?”
“He must ask.”
“To…to the capital? Wh…how--”
The hand on his head silenced him. “Gather thy wits,” said the Vagrant. “You’ll be needing them soon.” He began to murmur softly, brought two fingers to his brow. Drew them down over his face. “Delta-Eckiss,” he finished, the whole room seemed set aglow. “Godspeed,” he mouthed, looking terribly amused…
…and that was all before Joshua found himself standing on the floor of a cathedral he’d last been it more than a year ago. He had a sword in one hand, a ring clenched in the other, a letter shoved into his belt, and very confused old priest standing by him, holding an old oil lamp next to his head. Joshua looked at that small swaying light; he could hear the sound of rain on the steps outside, as well as the more distant cries of the mobs, no doubt still massing about the gates of the castle. He was also completely whole-which seemed odd, since the process had felt a little like being scattered into a thousand pieces on the wind.
“Who, who enters…” wavered the priest.
The young king held up his ring.
“Oh,” breathed the priest.
“Yes,” said Joshua, finding his voice again. “That appears to be the case, doesn’t it?”