Foxy, a.k.a. Squid (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
breakfastofchampions) wrote2010-01-10 04:00 pm
breakfastofchampions) wrote2010-01-10 04:00 pm
Entry tags:
Greatheart Storybook: The Queen's Birthday
Another Greatheart prompt short story! These are rather enjoyable to write. I love working with prompts. Anything in these short stories might later be contradicted as I could change my mind about things. However, they're mostly accurate as far as my concept of the story stands now, unless I state otherwise.
Hmm, but I guess they're a bit apocryphal, which is always fun!
Oh yes, and this is Helen's first written appearance, but you don't learn much about her here. Probably because I'm still figuring some things out about her character. I'll have to write another story which develops her and her friendship with Margot more.
Title: The Queen's Birthday
Universe: Greatheart
Word count: 2500
Prompt: "a noise in the schools"
Character(s): Margot Amaranth (Margot POV), Lawrence Timely, Helen Wild, Louis Amaranth
Pairing(s): None
Warning(s): Self-injury
Info: They used to celebrate the Queen's birthday, but no longer.
The Queen's Birthday.
A tumult of running and shouting came from the corridor outside the library. It couldn't have meant anything good. Margot looked up from her paper, in time to see several persons rush past the open door. Helen was seated on one side of her, Lawrence on the other. The three friends having heard the noise at the same time, they shared a glance.
"I suppose we should see what that's about," Margot said.
Marie, the day's escort--as young ladies of thirteen were never to be left alone with a young gentleman, however well-behaved--did not agree. "You must finish your compositions. The tutor left strict instructions."
Margot rose from her seat. "I don't think we'll have any trouble finishing them. Helen and I are almost finished ours, and I believe Lawrence has started on a second composition, for some reason."
Lawrence colored. "While composing the first, an interesting notion occurred to me, and I thought it warranted exploration in an entirely new piece."
"It's too much shouting," Helen said. "We can't concentrate, so we'll have to go and look."
Marie sighed, but faced with a determined princess, a similarly-minded lady-in-waiting, and a young man who probably would have preferred to stay and finish his second composition, she had no choice but to capitulate. "Very well, but only for a little while. I suppose you do deserve a recess. Though I'd think you could find a more enjoyable way to spend it than chasing after servants." Marie, not a servant herself, was a courtier from a minor noble family, and took pains to differentiate herself from the menials, some of whom performed the same duties.
It was true, those had been servants rushing past, but there were few reasons for servants to run and shout, so Margot deemed the matter every bit as interesting as if a group of noblemen had been responsible for the noise. Perhaps more interesting, as the nobility could get away with such behavior. Servants needed a good reason for it.
Margot took Helen by the hand and lead the way, out of the library and down the corridor. Lawrence followed a few steps behind, and Marie, the most reluctant investigator, was last.
"It's terrible. It's all my fault, I shouldn't have looked away from him," one of the men was saying as they caught up to the group of servants. They had slowed down and lost a few of their number. They must have split up. The others had most likely run down one of the hallways that branched off the one leading past the library. "How could this happen?" In the next moment, the man saw them and paled. "The princess," he murmured to his companions, and they turned to regard Margot, faces drawn with dread.
There were four of them standing before her, all young male attendants. She recognized them as men who were often assigned the unenviable task of minding her brother. "What is the matter?" Margot asked politely. She wasn't angry with them, but their expressions and words were certainly worrisome.
"My lady, "said the man who had spoken previously, bowing low. "It--it's the prince."
Margot was not even a little surprised. "What has my brother done?"
The man was much more distraught than he should have been. Prince Aloysius' antics were a plague upon his caretakers, but most of them were more or less used to his misbehavior and were more weary than alarmed in the face of it.
"He left--a note," said the man. Apparently the leader of this group, and therefore the one who would bear the most responsibility if anything went wrong, he lowered his head as he approached her and presented her with a piece of paper. Margot let go of Helen's hand to take it "I've sent messengers to inform the guards, and I've told everyone I encountered to look for him," the man added hastily, as she unfolded the paper and held it up to read.
The note was unmistakably in her brother's hand. His penmanship was terrible. Helen, at her side, read it as well, and spoke: "This can't be true."
Margot's hands were shaking. Louis was never one for subtlety, and his note stated his intentions quite clearly, and in very few words. He had decided to kill himself. It was unthinkable. He was only twelve years old.
"We must find him," said Lawrence, who had read the note over her shoulder. Moments later, Marie made a soft sound, like a stifled sob.
"I don't know where he could have gone," said the attendant. The man looked sick. "I'm so sorry."
"I have an idea," said Margot. Without another word, without waiting for anyone's response, she began to run. She was glad she had thought to look up from her composition and discover what the matter was. She knew Louis better than anyone.
Helen and Margot were behind her, she was sure, but she no longer heard their footsteps. She could only her hear quick heartbeat and her own thoughts. Such a foolish boy. Why would he do something like this? But she already knew why. There was a reason the servants were taking this seriously and hadn't written it off as another of Louis' tricks.
I don't wish to live anymore, the note had read. So I am going to end my life. Good-bye. Signed, Prince Aloysius Amaranth.
Following their mother's death, Father had walled up an entire wing of the palace. So many rooms, empty and dark. Not even servants were permitted to enter there, but there was a way inside. Margot knew what it was, because Aloysius had showed it to her. He had found a door in the catacombs that lead up into the abandoned wing. No one had thought to wall it off, because no one used the catacombs--they were yet another uninhabited, forgotten portion of the palace grounds. There were only a few doors leading down into them, kept open for the few older aristocrats who still ventured down there to honor the dead.
It was not until she was at the dark door to the catacombs that Margot faltered. She needed a light to carry. There were no lanterns down there.
"Here," said Lawrence, as if he had anticipated this. He handed her what looked like a circular brooch. "Press the middle," he said.
It lit up in her palm, like a small star: a portable light charm. It was clever, but she had no time to comment upon it now. She hurried down into the dark. Lawrence and Helen were still with her, though they had lost Marie and the servants along the way.
They had to slow on their way through the catacombs. Bones and memory stones were piled high, and the paths through them were narrow. Some of the stones glowed with charms of their own, but these were ancient and too faint to see by.
"It'll be all right," whispered Helen, taking up Margot's free hand again and giving it a quick squeeze. "I'm sure." After that, none of them spoke.
Margot remembered where the door was. It was narrow. A few stones were piled in front of it, as if someone had idly thought of closing it up after all. They squeezed through the thin entrance one by one.
In the abandoned wing, the windows as well as doors that lead outside had been filled. It was as dark as the catacombs. It was, in fact, a different kind of catacomb.
What if he isn't here? What if I'm wrong and he's done something else? His foolishly vague note had offered no clues as to his plan.
She knew these halls and rooms, too well. One of them had been hers once. She ignored the tightening of her chest as she climbed the stairs and made her way through the shadows of the past. The air was stale. This place was stifling. Only the white-gold glow of Lawrence's charm could ward off the airlessness, the hopelessness.
The shadows around Mother's room seemed darker somehow, but that did not deter Margot. She opened the door and held up the glowing charm. There was her brother, lying still on the floor at the foot of the bed.
"Louis, Louis, what did you do?"
She knelt down before she realized there was blood all around him, but she didn't care if her dress, if everything was ruined, as long as he was all right. He looked so pale as she held the light close to him. His eyes were closed, and his chest was bare. He was breathing, but his breath was faint. He had cut his forearms open.
"Lawrence, Helen, go and fetch someone. I'll stay with him."
She heard Helen's footsteps as her friend ran, but Lawrence stayed. "I can help," he said.
Setting down the charm where they could still see by its glow, Margot took up the knife Louis had used to injure himself, as well as the shirt the prince had been wearing. She cut the cloth into pieces. They each took one of Louis' arms, bandaging them as quickly and firmly as they could.
Lawrence spread his hands over the arm he had bandaged, his expression grave. He had been studying magic for some time. She had rarely seen him practice it, but as she watched now, a shining line appeared between his fingers, like a golden thread. She watched as he wrapped it quickly around the bandages, then repeated the process with the prince's other arm. When he finished, he was shaken, visibly drained. "That should help--with the bleeding."
"Lawrence!" His eyes closed, and he lay down.
"Just tired," he murmured. He seemed to mean it, and she trusted that he would be all right.
Margot looked down at her brother. What else could she do? She didn't know. She had no magic, no special power. "Don't die." She felt tears on her face, rolling down her cheek, falling from her chin into the dark.
Mother had lived in this room. She wouldn't want Louis to die here, certainly not like this, not now. "Mother, don't let him die, please," she whispered. She pulled Louis' head and shoulders up into her lap, raising his head. "Louis, wake up. Wake up." She closed her eyes. If her mother was there, somehow, then she would do something, surely. Mother had always known what to do.
When she opened her eyes again, Louis was looking up at her. She almost cried out with joy, but instead she bit her lip and touched his face. "Silly Louis," she said.
It seemed only moments later, but it seemed a year later, when the door opened, and suddenly there were other people in the room, and there was a healer, and she was being gently drawn away from her brother.
She soon found herself sitting in the dark hall with Lawrence and Helen. Fortunately, there were other people here, too, and they had brought lanterns with them, the white, Aetherian light a little ghostly, but bright.
She and Lawrence were both covered in blood. Helen was breathing hard, as if she'd run faster than her body was able. Lawrence was still barely conscious, but he was sitting up, at least. He was not the kind of magician who could readily do magic without books and equipment, so he had probably strained himself.
Another healer knelt beside Lawrence, but soon deemed him fit. He turned towards Helen and Margot, but Margot heard herself say in a strong, clear voice, "We're fine. We'll wait to hear how my brother is."
She glanced towards the room again. Sir Bertrand was standing in the doorway, his back to her. He was Father's knight, and at the sight of him, it became obvious, and painfully so, that Father was not there and was not going to be arriving at any point in the future.
Helen took her hand again. Margot smiled gratefully at the other girl. The library and their compositions felt so far away. How could things change so abruptly and completely? But they could, at any moment. It had been like that the day mother died. Everything from before that day was so distant, it might never have happened.
They used to celebrate the Queen's Birthday. All the servants had been given half-days, and all the knights and soldiers had enjoyed full rest days. There had been feasts and parties, special drinks and cakes. Mother, who had never cared to be fussed over, had borne with it, with a wry smile but good humor.
Today there had been only the usual lessons. No one had said a word about the date. Only Louis had done something to mark the occasion.
When Bertrand appeared in the doorway again, he was facing her. He smiled, though his eyes were sad. That was nothing new; she had always thought of him as a knight with sad eyes. "Princess. Your brother will be fine, thanks to your good sense."
"Can I see him?"
He nodded and stepped aside to make the way clear for her.
"Wait here, Helen," said Margot, her grip on her friend's hand tightening before she released it.
The room was well-lit, though the light served to emphasize the neglect and decay of this wasted place. Louis was lying on the bed now. On mother's bed. He looked so small in it. She was sure the healers knew their work. There would be no scars remaining. Just as everyone who knew about this incident would be sworn to secrecy. No signs of it would remain, or almost none.
Margot stood at his bedside. Louis' eyes were mercifully clear. "Are you mad at me?"
That was the first thing he said to her. She was unsurprised. "Of course I'm not mad," she said. "But you must never do that again."
"Margot."
"Never! Mother wouldn't like it, you must know that."
Louis looked like Mother. He had her pale skin and dark hair, and her eyes. He was nothing like her, though. Not really. He didn't promise her anything, simply looked at her with those eyes that were the same shape and color as Mother's but had nothing of Mother's spirit in them. Like the knight's, Louis' eyes were sad. Margot smiled down at him. She loved her brother. "No one's mad at you," she said. "We're only worried." Her fingers brushed his hair.
Margot, too, was nothing like Mother. No one was. If Mother had been there, Louis' eyes wouldn't be so sad, but there was nothing Margot could do about that. Things had changed in a moment, and they would never be the same again.
"You'll be fine," Margot said, with a brightness she did not feel. We'll all be fine.
Hmm, but I guess they're a bit apocryphal, which is always fun!
Oh yes, and this is Helen's first written appearance, but you don't learn much about her here. Probably because I'm still figuring some things out about her character. I'll have to write another story which develops her and her friendship with Margot more.
Title: The Queen's Birthday
Universe: Greatheart
Word count: 2500
Prompt: "a noise in the schools"
Character(s): Margot Amaranth (Margot POV), Lawrence Timely, Helen Wild, Louis Amaranth
Pairing(s): None
Warning(s): Self-injury
Info: They used to celebrate the Queen's birthday, but no longer.
The Queen's Birthday.
A tumult of running and shouting came from the corridor outside the library. It couldn't have meant anything good. Margot looked up from her paper, in time to see several persons rush past the open door. Helen was seated on one side of her, Lawrence on the other. The three friends having heard the noise at the same time, they shared a glance.
"I suppose we should see what that's about," Margot said.
Marie, the day's escort--as young ladies of thirteen were never to be left alone with a young gentleman, however well-behaved--did not agree. "You must finish your compositions. The tutor left strict instructions."
Margot rose from her seat. "I don't think we'll have any trouble finishing them. Helen and I are almost finished ours, and I believe Lawrence has started on a second composition, for some reason."
Lawrence colored. "While composing the first, an interesting notion occurred to me, and I thought it warranted exploration in an entirely new piece."
"It's too much shouting," Helen said. "We can't concentrate, so we'll have to go and look."
Marie sighed, but faced with a determined princess, a similarly-minded lady-in-waiting, and a young man who probably would have preferred to stay and finish his second composition, she had no choice but to capitulate. "Very well, but only for a little while. I suppose you do deserve a recess. Though I'd think you could find a more enjoyable way to spend it than chasing after servants." Marie, not a servant herself, was a courtier from a minor noble family, and took pains to differentiate herself from the menials, some of whom performed the same duties.
It was true, those had been servants rushing past, but there were few reasons for servants to run and shout, so Margot deemed the matter every bit as interesting as if a group of noblemen had been responsible for the noise. Perhaps more interesting, as the nobility could get away with such behavior. Servants needed a good reason for it.
Margot took Helen by the hand and lead the way, out of the library and down the corridor. Lawrence followed a few steps behind, and Marie, the most reluctant investigator, was last.
"It's terrible. It's all my fault, I shouldn't have looked away from him," one of the men was saying as they caught up to the group of servants. They had slowed down and lost a few of their number. They must have split up. The others had most likely run down one of the hallways that branched off the one leading past the library. "How could this happen?" In the next moment, the man saw them and paled. "The princess," he murmured to his companions, and they turned to regard Margot, faces drawn with dread.
There were four of them standing before her, all young male attendants. She recognized them as men who were often assigned the unenviable task of minding her brother. "What is the matter?" Margot asked politely. She wasn't angry with them, but their expressions and words were certainly worrisome.
"My lady, "said the man who had spoken previously, bowing low. "It--it's the prince."
Margot was not even a little surprised. "What has my brother done?"
The man was much more distraught than he should have been. Prince Aloysius' antics were a plague upon his caretakers, but most of them were more or less used to his misbehavior and were more weary than alarmed in the face of it.
"He left--a note," said the man. Apparently the leader of this group, and therefore the one who would bear the most responsibility if anything went wrong, he lowered his head as he approached her and presented her with a piece of paper. Margot let go of Helen's hand to take it "I've sent messengers to inform the guards, and I've told everyone I encountered to look for him," the man added hastily, as she unfolded the paper and held it up to read.
The note was unmistakably in her brother's hand. His penmanship was terrible. Helen, at her side, read it as well, and spoke: "This can't be true."
Margot's hands were shaking. Louis was never one for subtlety, and his note stated his intentions quite clearly, and in very few words. He had decided to kill himself. It was unthinkable. He was only twelve years old.
"We must find him," said Lawrence, who had read the note over her shoulder. Moments later, Marie made a soft sound, like a stifled sob.
"I don't know where he could have gone," said the attendant. The man looked sick. "I'm so sorry."
"I have an idea," said Margot. Without another word, without waiting for anyone's response, she began to run. She was glad she had thought to look up from her composition and discover what the matter was. She knew Louis better than anyone.
Helen and Margot were behind her, she was sure, but she no longer heard their footsteps. She could only her hear quick heartbeat and her own thoughts. Such a foolish boy. Why would he do something like this? But she already knew why. There was a reason the servants were taking this seriously and hadn't written it off as another of Louis' tricks.
I don't wish to live anymore, the note had read. So I am going to end my life. Good-bye. Signed, Prince Aloysius Amaranth.
Following their mother's death, Father had walled up an entire wing of the palace. So many rooms, empty and dark. Not even servants were permitted to enter there, but there was a way inside. Margot knew what it was, because Aloysius had showed it to her. He had found a door in the catacombs that lead up into the abandoned wing. No one had thought to wall it off, because no one used the catacombs--they were yet another uninhabited, forgotten portion of the palace grounds. There were only a few doors leading down into them, kept open for the few older aristocrats who still ventured down there to honor the dead.
It was not until she was at the dark door to the catacombs that Margot faltered. She needed a light to carry. There were no lanterns down there.
"Here," said Lawrence, as if he had anticipated this. He handed her what looked like a circular brooch. "Press the middle," he said.
It lit up in her palm, like a small star: a portable light charm. It was clever, but she had no time to comment upon it now. She hurried down into the dark. Lawrence and Helen were still with her, though they had lost Marie and the servants along the way.
They had to slow on their way through the catacombs. Bones and memory stones were piled high, and the paths through them were narrow. Some of the stones glowed with charms of their own, but these were ancient and too faint to see by.
"It'll be all right," whispered Helen, taking up Margot's free hand again and giving it a quick squeeze. "I'm sure." After that, none of them spoke.
Margot remembered where the door was. It was narrow. A few stones were piled in front of it, as if someone had idly thought of closing it up after all. They squeezed through the thin entrance one by one.
In the abandoned wing, the windows as well as doors that lead outside had been filled. It was as dark as the catacombs. It was, in fact, a different kind of catacomb.
What if he isn't here? What if I'm wrong and he's done something else? His foolishly vague note had offered no clues as to his plan.
She knew these halls and rooms, too well. One of them had been hers once. She ignored the tightening of her chest as she climbed the stairs and made her way through the shadows of the past. The air was stale. This place was stifling. Only the white-gold glow of Lawrence's charm could ward off the airlessness, the hopelessness.
The shadows around Mother's room seemed darker somehow, but that did not deter Margot. She opened the door and held up the glowing charm. There was her brother, lying still on the floor at the foot of the bed.
"Louis, Louis, what did you do?"
She knelt down before she realized there was blood all around him, but she didn't care if her dress, if everything was ruined, as long as he was all right. He looked so pale as she held the light close to him. His eyes were closed, and his chest was bare. He was breathing, but his breath was faint. He had cut his forearms open.
"Lawrence, Helen, go and fetch someone. I'll stay with him."
She heard Helen's footsteps as her friend ran, but Lawrence stayed. "I can help," he said.
Setting down the charm where they could still see by its glow, Margot took up the knife Louis had used to injure himself, as well as the shirt the prince had been wearing. She cut the cloth into pieces. They each took one of Louis' arms, bandaging them as quickly and firmly as they could.
Lawrence spread his hands over the arm he had bandaged, his expression grave. He had been studying magic for some time. She had rarely seen him practice it, but as she watched now, a shining line appeared between his fingers, like a golden thread. She watched as he wrapped it quickly around the bandages, then repeated the process with the prince's other arm. When he finished, he was shaken, visibly drained. "That should help--with the bleeding."
"Lawrence!" His eyes closed, and he lay down.
"Just tired," he murmured. He seemed to mean it, and she trusted that he would be all right.
Margot looked down at her brother. What else could she do? She didn't know. She had no magic, no special power. "Don't die." She felt tears on her face, rolling down her cheek, falling from her chin into the dark.
Mother had lived in this room. She wouldn't want Louis to die here, certainly not like this, not now. "Mother, don't let him die, please," she whispered. She pulled Louis' head and shoulders up into her lap, raising his head. "Louis, wake up. Wake up." She closed her eyes. If her mother was there, somehow, then she would do something, surely. Mother had always known what to do.
When she opened her eyes again, Louis was looking up at her. She almost cried out with joy, but instead she bit her lip and touched his face. "Silly Louis," she said.
It seemed only moments later, but it seemed a year later, when the door opened, and suddenly there were other people in the room, and there was a healer, and she was being gently drawn away from her brother.
She soon found herself sitting in the dark hall with Lawrence and Helen. Fortunately, there were other people here, too, and they had brought lanterns with them, the white, Aetherian light a little ghostly, but bright.
She and Lawrence were both covered in blood. Helen was breathing hard, as if she'd run faster than her body was able. Lawrence was still barely conscious, but he was sitting up, at least. He was not the kind of magician who could readily do magic without books and equipment, so he had probably strained himself.
Another healer knelt beside Lawrence, but soon deemed him fit. He turned towards Helen and Margot, but Margot heard herself say in a strong, clear voice, "We're fine. We'll wait to hear how my brother is."
She glanced towards the room again. Sir Bertrand was standing in the doorway, his back to her. He was Father's knight, and at the sight of him, it became obvious, and painfully so, that Father was not there and was not going to be arriving at any point in the future.
Helen took her hand again. Margot smiled gratefully at the other girl. The library and their compositions felt so far away. How could things change so abruptly and completely? But they could, at any moment. It had been like that the day mother died. Everything from before that day was so distant, it might never have happened.
They used to celebrate the Queen's Birthday. All the servants had been given half-days, and all the knights and soldiers had enjoyed full rest days. There had been feasts and parties, special drinks and cakes. Mother, who had never cared to be fussed over, had borne with it, with a wry smile but good humor.
Today there had been only the usual lessons. No one had said a word about the date. Only Louis had done something to mark the occasion.
When Bertrand appeared in the doorway again, he was facing her. He smiled, though his eyes were sad. That was nothing new; she had always thought of him as a knight with sad eyes. "Princess. Your brother will be fine, thanks to your good sense."
"Can I see him?"
He nodded and stepped aside to make the way clear for her.
"Wait here, Helen," said Margot, her grip on her friend's hand tightening before she released it.
The room was well-lit, though the light served to emphasize the neglect and decay of this wasted place. Louis was lying on the bed now. On mother's bed. He looked so small in it. She was sure the healers knew their work. There would be no scars remaining. Just as everyone who knew about this incident would be sworn to secrecy. No signs of it would remain, or almost none.
Margot stood at his bedside. Louis' eyes were mercifully clear. "Are you mad at me?"
That was the first thing he said to her. She was unsurprised. "Of course I'm not mad," she said. "But you must never do that again."
"Margot."
"Never! Mother wouldn't like it, you must know that."
Louis looked like Mother. He had her pale skin and dark hair, and her eyes. He was nothing like her, though. Not really. He didn't promise her anything, simply looked at her with those eyes that were the same shape and color as Mother's but had nothing of Mother's spirit in them. Like the knight's, Louis' eyes were sad. Margot smiled down at him. She loved her brother. "No one's mad at you," she said. "We're only worried." Her fingers brushed his hair.
Margot, too, was nothing like Mother. No one was. If Mother had been there, Louis' eyes wouldn't be so sad, but there was nothing Margot could do about that. Things had changed in a moment, and they would never be the same again.
"You'll be fine," Margot said, with a brightness she did not feel. We'll all be fine.