[Wild Roses] mid wars
Title: unexpected company
'Verse/characters: Wild Roses; ensemble Sabaey
Prompt: 07A "hidden stories", zero_pixel_coun asking for Sascha being involved
Word Count: 1347
Notes: interim between wars. I cannot express how frustrated I am with this one; it's all images and I feel that the words are not working right to get the effect across.
He came off a passenger boat, by way of at least one other boat, and went as directly as a newcomer could to the Keep and the keeper of the King's schedule.
If he wasn't Sabaey-blooded, the lady reflected, then she'd lost her ability to distinguish that with the last King. "What name shall I give the King, to announce you?" she inquired, not really expecting a good answer beyond, perhaps, a mage's name.
"Um," said the boy, hesitating, then closed his eyes. "Please tell the King my mother's name was Isabeau leRoux."
There was a moment of perfect stillness, then, as calmly as she could, she directed him to a waiting room watched by a Hand, and retreated behind closed doors to summon the King and have a lovely case of hysterics.
Twenty minutes later, the King had as many of his oldest relations in his study as would answer a call.
Arianhrod wasn't pacing, but it was a very near thing. "Bets on the father?"
"Not a chance," Ulysse said, about as mildly as he'd managed recently. "Not with the looks the Hand's describing."
"He an endgame?" Fintain wondered aloud, made a face when Sean snorted--and that was going to take getting used to--shook his head.
"Not unless there's a massive conspiracy that hasn't come to light, even with Nicolai and Isabeau both dead," he clarified when Arianhrod all but laid her ears back at him. She'd been spending way too much time with the packs, to be picking up the body language that thoroughly. "And we've been looking for signs of conspiracy. Remember how long it took to clear Jared's name?"
Arianhrod twitched, stuck her hands in the sleeves of her sweater. "I don't like the timing."
No one argued that. Even if logic suggested time between finding out his mother was dead and coming to present himself before someone found him, long-standing paranoia questioned the motives.
"We need to call the family in," Ulysse said, and watched their heads whip around towards him. "If we were any other family we would have done it before now."
Arianhrod hissed between her teeth, but didn't throw words in his face. "Sean--"
"I'll call. I have a set of icons in my desk."
---
It took three days. The newcomer, who was named Jonathan, apparently, was given a set of rooms in the Keep--guests' quarters, instead of one of the war's lost--and an unobtrusive escort when he went wandering. He kept largely to himself without any apparent awareness of it, beating a hasty retreat from the library one afternoon when Sascha and Hazel rumbled in, arguing about something that required historical-records proof--rumour had it Hazel won, possibly a first--and venturing no farther than the courtyard and roof of the Keep. He was obviously curious, but either innate shyness or an intense awareness of just who he looked like kept him easily found and quiet.
But Hernén eventually got free of whatever current crisis had kept him put, and came in with half a dozen other members of the family in his wake when he did.
Sean and Giselle ducked out of the afternoon's commitments, caught Iarlaith as he started to fade, and shoved everyone into the biggest enclosed room in the library. Geoffrey still looked gutted, grief worn as obviously across his face as it was harder to catch on Ruadhan's, which was a bad sign. Hernén'd lost more than a few to that kind of grief, early on, and obviously knew what was lurking in his brother, because they were no sooner in the room than Hernén perched on a couch's sturdy carved arm, gesturing his brother to the cushions. Sascha and Hazel sat down by him, Hazel tucking bare feet under his thigh as she leaned into Sascha, obviously half-exhausted by whatever the two of them had been up to before being called.
Arianhrod, much to everyone's surprise, had not only managed to catch her son but she actually managed to keep him in the room long enough for the soft introduction to be made, whereupon it was no longer necessary to keep an eye on him.
"And now the question," Ruadhan murmured, just loud enough to be heard, and there was something so very quietly wrong that he was neither pacing along a wall nor curled up in an armchair with his guitar in his lap.
"What do we do with him," agreed Sean, in the same language. Politeness decreed that they not debate someone's fate directly to his face in a language he understood--well, politeness might, but it would probably be worse to be kept from the room.
Small ripples of conversation eddied through the room for a while, and the kid helped the illusion of politeness by sitting with his hands in his lap, not quite obviously terrified out of his mind.
"Why is this even a question?" Sascha demanded, when it became obvious no one else was going to speak. She shooed Hazel off to lean against Geoffrey's side instead of hers, stood up and crossed the room in a stalk that no-one who'd encountered her lady mother would mistake for anything learned in the woods or the harbours.
"Sascha--" her father began, but stopped when she held out both her hands to the kid, who eyed them like they held a live cockatrice before hesitantly placing his palms in hers. Her hands closed around his, and in a single smooth pull he was on his feet, blinking barely down at her.
She grinned, leaned up, kissed both his cheeks. "Hello, Jonathan. I'm Alexandra--you can call me Sascha. Friends do."
He gaped at her. "I--but--"
"Jonathan," she repeated, and he obediently stopped talking, teeth clicking together in the complete silence of the room, "Welcome to the family."
Ulysse reflected idly that he'd seen significantly less stunned young men after their first exchange of cannon fire, before Sascha pushed the kid back down on the couch, sat next to him with her thigh pressed up against his and an arm along the back of the couch behind him. As she curled her feet back underneath her, she gave the rest of the room a very telling sort of look.
No one looked at her father, though Ulysse caught glances passing between Arianhrod, Hernén and Sean like a game of duck the cartridge.
"Forgive our rudeness," someone said after a moment, and he was startled to recognise the voice as Iarlaith's, "you were something of a surprise."
The kid broke out into a sudden shy smile that was utterly neither of his parents', before he sobered again. "I'm sorry, my lord."
"Not your fault," Sean retorted, stuffing his hands into his pockets, some decision obviously made. "You're hardly old enough to have yelled anything like loud enough to distract either of your parents from their chosen course."
Half the room twitched, the kid included. Sean waved a half-apologetic hand as Sascha leaned over and propped her no doubt extremely pointy chin on the kid's shoulder, still eying the room like she was waiting for the fight to start.
Ulysse wasn't going to give her the satisfaction. Not when he actually kind of agreed with her--if Jonathan was as old as Sascha he'd let Niamh keep the command. Kid might even be as young as Isael, who was watching the room with the same sort of careful attention smart people gave wide open trails in the woods. Too young, no matter his age, to have been involved enough to rein in or urge on either of his parents, and unfair of the family to look at him with only his parents in mind.
Not that they had any other information about the kid, and what did that say about Isabeau's ability to keep secrets? But that was no fault of her son's, and he caught Sascha's eye, gave her a small nod.
She grinned at him, for once showing her mother's colours as much as her father's, and he bit off a smile of his own. Jonathan had no idea what'd just hit him.
'Verse/characters: Wild Roses; ensemble Sabaey
Prompt: 07A "hidden stories", zero_pixel_coun asking for Sascha being involved
Word Count: 1347
Notes: interim between wars. I cannot express how frustrated I am with this one; it's all images and I feel that the words are not working right to get the effect across.
He came off a passenger boat, by way of at least one other boat, and went as directly as a newcomer could to the Keep and the keeper of the King's schedule.
If he wasn't Sabaey-blooded, the lady reflected, then she'd lost her ability to distinguish that with the last King. "What name shall I give the King, to announce you?" she inquired, not really expecting a good answer beyond, perhaps, a mage's name.
"Um," said the boy, hesitating, then closed his eyes. "Please tell the King my mother's name was Isabeau leRoux."
There was a moment of perfect stillness, then, as calmly as she could, she directed him to a waiting room watched by a Hand, and retreated behind closed doors to summon the King and have a lovely case of hysterics.
Twenty minutes later, the King had as many of his oldest relations in his study as would answer a call.
Arianhrod wasn't pacing, but it was a very near thing. "Bets on the father?"
"Not a chance," Ulysse said, about as mildly as he'd managed recently. "Not with the looks the Hand's describing."
"He an endgame?" Fintain wondered aloud, made a face when Sean snorted--and that was going to take getting used to--shook his head.
"Not unless there's a massive conspiracy that hasn't come to light, even with Nicolai and Isabeau both dead," he clarified when Arianhrod all but laid her ears back at him. She'd been spending way too much time with the packs, to be picking up the body language that thoroughly. "And we've been looking for signs of conspiracy. Remember how long it took to clear Jared's name?"
Arianhrod twitched, stuck her hands in the sleeves of her sweater. "I don't like the timing."
No one argued that. Even if logic suggested time between finding out his mother was dead and coming to present himself before someone found him, long-standing paranoia questioned the motives.
"We need to call the family in," Ulysse said, and watched their heads whip around towards him. "If we were any other family we would have done it before now."
Arianhrod hissed between her teeth, but didn't throw words in his face. "Sean--"
"I'll call. I have a set of icons in my desk."
---
It took three days. The newcomer, who was named Jonathan, apparently, was given a set of rooms in the Keep--guests' quarters, instead of one of the war's lost--and an unobtrusive escort when he went wandering. He kept largely to himself without any apparent awareness of it, beating a hasty retreat from the library one afternoon when Sascha and Hazel rumbled in, arguing about something that required historical-records proof--rumour had it Hazel won, possibly a first--and venturing no farther than the courtyard and roof of the Keep. He was obviously curious, but either innate shyness or an intense awareness of just who he looked like kept him easily found and quiet.
But Hernén eventually got free of whatever current crisis had kept him put, and came in with half a dozen other members of the family in his wake when he did.
Sean and Giselle ducked out of the afternoon's commitments, caught Iarlaith as he started to fade, and shoved everyone into the biggest enclosed room in the library. Geoffrey still looked gutted, grief worn as obviously across his face as it was harder to catch on Ruadhan's, which was a bad sign. Hernén'd lost more than a few to that kind of grief, early on, and obviously knew what was lurking in his brother, because they were no sooner in the room than Hernén perched on a couch's sturdy carved arm, gesturing his brother to the cushions. Sascha and Hazel sat down by him, Hazel tucking bare feet under his thigh as she leaned into Sascha, obviously half-exhausted by whatever the two of them had been up to before being called.
Arianhrod, much to everyone's surprise, had not only managed to catch her son but she actually managed to keep him in the room long enough for the soft introduction to be made, whereupon it was no longer necessary to keep an eye on him.
"And now the question," Ruadhan murmured, just loud enough to be heard, and there was something so very quietly wrong that he was neither pacing along a wall nor curled up in an armchair with his guitar in his lap.
"What do we do with him," agreed Sean, in the same language. Politeness decreed that they not debate someone's fate directly to his face in a language he understood--well, politeness might, but it would probably be worse to be kept from the room.
Small ripples of conversation eddied through the room for a while, and the kid helped the illusion of politeness by sitting with his hands in his lap, not quite obviously terrified out of his mind.
"Why is this even a question?" Sascha demanded, when it became obvious no one else was going to speak. She shooed Hazel off to lean against Geoffrey's side instead of hers, stood up and crossed the room in a stalk that no-one who'd encountered her lady mother would mistake for anything learned in the woods or the harbours.
"Sascha--" her father began, but stopped when she held out both her hands to the kid, who eyed them like they held a live cockatrice before hesitantly placing his palms in hers. Her hands closed around his, and in a single smooth pull he was on his feet, blinking barely down at her.
She grinned, leaned up, kissed both his cheeks. "Hello, Jonathan. I'm Alexandra--you can call me Sascha. Friends do."
He gaped at her. "I--but--"
"Jonathan," she repeated, and he obediently stopped talking, teeth clicking together in the complete silence of the room, "Welcome to the family."
Ulysse reflected idly that he'd seen significantly less stunned young men after their first exchange of cannon fire, before Sascha pushed the kid back down on the couch, sat next to him with her thigh pressed up against his and an arm along the back of the couch behind him. As she curled her feet back underneath her, she gave the rest of the room a very telling sort of look.
No one looked at her father, though Ulysse caught glances passing between Arianhrod, Hernén and Sean like a game of duck the cartridge.
"Forgive our rudeness," someone said after a moment, and he was startled to recognise the voice as Iarlaith's, "you were something of a surprise."
The kid broke out into a sudden shy smile that was utterly neither of his parents', before he sobered again. "I'm sorry, my lord."
"Not your fault," Sean retorted, stuffing his hands into his pockets, some decision obviously made. "You're hardly old enough to have yelled anything like loud enough to distract either of your parents from their chosen course."
Half the room twitched, the kid included. Sean waved a half-apologetic hand as Sascha leaned over and propped her no doubt extremely pointy chin on the kid's shoulder, still eying the room like she was waiting for the fight to start.
Ulysse wasn't going to give her the satisfaction. Not when he actually kind of agreed with her--if Jonathan was as old as Sascha he'd let Niamh keep the command. Kid might even be as young as Isael, who was watching the room with the same sort of careful attention smart people gave wide open trails in the woods. Too young, no matter his age, to have been involved enough to rein in or urge on either of his parents, and unfair of the family to look at him with only his parents in mind.
Not that they had any other information about the kid, and what did that say about Isabeau's ability to keep secrets? But that was no fault of her son's, and he caught Sascha's eye, gave her a small nod.
She grinned at him, for once showing her mother's colours as much as her father's, and he bit off a smile of his own. Jonathan had no idea what'd just hit him.