Chapter 32
Previously: The Rose of Whitby – Chapter 31
“Are you really alright?” Arthur murmurs to Darcy, keeps his voice pitched low under the sounds of the carriage- after all, the duchess is loaning it to them (probably that’s embarrassing and makes them look poor, not having their own carriage?), and he doesn’t trust the driver not to report back if he overhears something.
Darcy waves that off and looks at him in concern instead- is he alright? He’s been holding the spell for so long, she’s sorry that it took her that long!
Arthur blushes a little, and tells her it’s okay- though he is feeling the drain of it. It’s an unfamiliar spell, after all, needing so much more of his energy and concentration to keep the matrix in his mind’s eye, keep the magic flowing where it needs to. And then combined with all the distractions he was dealing with at the same time… He lets the spell fade, now that they’re hidden away from prying eyes for the moment.
He’s worried about what he’ll see- and indeed, there are three holes in Darcy’s dress, one near her shoulder, one under her sternum and one over her abdomen, and Arthur feels a little sick with knowing how if she were a normal girl, she would be very dead.
Gregory clearly realises that, too, his eyes going large and he grabs for Darcy’s hands, which makes her look up in surprise- she was looking down at her ruined dress and the holes in it with only curiosity, that Arthur could see, not at all upset.
“I’m so sorry!” Gregory exclaims, repeats: “It’s all my fault!” And he does it way too loud, and Arthur makes urgent motions and hisses for him to keep his voice down.
It takes Gregory a long moment to turn his attention from Darcy to him, and he seems confused at first, then does lower his voice. “I just hate that I couldn’t protect you,” he mutters, gives Darcy another pleading look. “I didn’t want you to have to go through something like that.”
But Darcy shakes her head, her expression grows firm again- she did what any heroine would have done! It was her virtue that was insulted!
Gregory mumbles something about the stupidity of virtue and noble rules, which… Arthur thinks is kind of rude, like he’s saying that Darcy doesn’t have virtue? And she’s a noble, so those are her rules? But Darcy doesn’t seem offended, just assures Gregory that she’s really alright, which Arthur takes as his cue to ask her if she needs any healing.
She frees one of her hands from Gregory’s grasp and pokes a curious finger at the hole in the fabric at her abdomen. No, it’s all healed over, she wonders about the bullets- yupp, it’s still in there, good, that means the duchess can’t find them in the grass! And her papa will know what to do!
Arthur can’t imagine her papa will be very happy hearing that his daughter got shot, and really hopes he and Gregory aren’t going to end up blamed for it.
But for the rest of the carriage ride, he leans his head against the window and dozes, while Gregory turns cat and curls up in Darcy’s lap, where she pets him absently.
~~~~
When they slow down and turn into their own driveway, Arthur re-casts the illusion spell on Darcy, and she nudges Gregory to return to his seat and his human form.
And Arthur had always thought that their castle had a very impressive driveway- what with having a driveway in the first place and all!- but after seeing the one at the duchess’ estate, it looks a lot smaller and more modest. And less pristine, with the way flowering bushes are crowding in on it in patches like they want to lay claim to it with their dropped petals between the gravel.
Arthur still doesn’t really trust their fey landlords, but nothing bad has happened so far, and he kind of likes the less strict and orderly look of their castle a lot more than the neat grandeur of the duchess’ manor and grounds.
They get out of the carriage- Gregory offering Darcy a hand down with flair, though Arthur doesn’t think that’s going to distract the driver from the fact that they don’t have any footmen or people coming to the door to greet their returning lady, if that’s what Gregory was trying to do. But then the carriage moves off, doing its circle in front of the house, and heads back down the way it came, and out the gates, and then, with a sigh of relief, Arthur finally lets the illusion spell fade for good. There’s a headache brewing behind his temples, made of several different kinds of exhaustion and strain. It’s barely lunch time, but he wants to go to sleep. Or at least have a nap.
First, though, Dr Seward hears them returning and meets them in the hall- and raises an eyebrow at the state of Darcy’s dress. She, of course, bounces up to her papa- she got shot at, but she’s fine, all healed! She won the duel! Her bright chatter draws a smile from Dr Seward, and Arthur bites back another sigh of relief- maybe he won’t be mad at him and Gregory.
And then Darcy continues on, saying that he, Arthur, was really great, he helped her so nobody saw that she needed a few tries at shooting.
That makes Arthur blush, and he ducks his head when Dr Seward looks in his direction and… maybe even nods an acknowledgement at him?
But Darcy continues, draws her papa’s attention back to her: She thinks there are bullets in her, it’s okay, it doesn’t hurt, but he’s the doctor!
That makes Dr Seward grow business-like, and he draws her away for a proper examination- gives Gregory a stern, disapproving glance when he tries to follow, which makes Gregory look… kind of sad and forlorn. He turns to Arthur, who sighs and lifts a hand to rub at the throbbing starting up in his head.
Fuck it, he decides. There isn’t anywhere else they have to be, and he’s tired. He heads to the kitchen to ask the house for a few sandwiches for lunch, and then he’s going to go to sleep, even if it is the middle of the day.
Gregory turns cat again and trails after him, and tries to talk to him, but after a few grunts from Arthur and an eventual: “My head hurts, can you please shut up?”, he does.
Arthur’s bed is soft and welcoming, and his stomach is full, and there’s no scary barons there right then, and so he falls asleep in no time.
~~~~
He’d all but forgotten about burning the costume and all, but after dinner, Gregory heads off to patrol in town, and Darcy asks him if they should do it now- it’s dark, that’ll make his fire look only brighter! Unless of course he’s still tired from all the magic he did that morning?
Arthur isn’t- he slept until late in the afternoon, and feels strange now, like the world is half a step next to where it should be.
So he decides he might as well burn that costume and see whether it makes him feel any different in any way.
They climb up to the parapets for it. Arthur hasn’t been all that way up there yet, and their way leads them past three stories of corridors and rooms, all in good repair and clean, no sign of dust, but eerie in their emptiness. There is so much room in this castle, and it’s just the four of them, counting Darcy’s father. Now that he’s experienced what a noble’s house is really supposed to be like at the duchess- all those other people living there to keep it running, maids and butlers and footmen and no doubt cooks and gardeners and what not- their magic castle seems only more strange.
Anyone who visits them surely must notice? He wonders what kind of report Dame Jennifer gave the duchess on it.
The air is cool and damp when they finally step outside onto the flat roof with it’s jagged… Arthur’s not sure what they’re called. Crenellations? Well, it’s like a stone balustrade rising to points in steps. They’re above the wing with the library and his room and he can see across the jumble of roofs and chimneys. The square tower is next to them, the other two across- he wonders how the castle ended up being like it is- like several different buildings got all squished together. Probably, it got expanded over time? And probably also, there’s a book somewhere in the library that would tell him.
But for now, Darcy sets the bundle of fabric down in the middle of the roof, and gives him an encouraging nod.
Arthur hesitates. “Are you sure?” he can’t help but asks. “I mean… it must’ve been expensive…” It’s very nice fabric, and someone went through all the trouble of making it…
Darcy gives him a look, and says: “Arthur-dear, you’re being silly! We have a fairytale castle, it made the costume for you- do I need to ask it to set it on fire for you, too?”
That makes him blush.
“Oh, well, in that case…”
Darcy nods strongly. “In that case, you can burn your past and decide what you want to be, what kind of Arthur! Not the cage your father put around it. You’re a man, you get to do that.”
Arthur blushes.
“…I don’t feel like that much of a man…” he admits.
“Oh pish-tosh!” And that’s another look from her before she smiles softer. “You always help me with all the paperwork and give me good advice and do all the research. You are my scholar, my mage!”
Her words make his blush linger around, but… but he feels a pleased little bit of warmth in his chest hearing them, too. He likes helping and being a scholar and mage, he decides.
So he takes a deep breath, and looks at the costume. Burning his past… he doesn’t think it’s that easy to… re-define yourself. And there’s things in his past he values- he could’ve had it a lot worse.
But this is about his father wanting him to be all… influential and stuff, and that… that he can do, that he can burn, he decides. Being someone’s advisor and scholar- just advisor and scholar would never be good enough for his father, he’s sure. He’d want Arthur to use this as an opportunity to… make himself someone important.
And he doesn’t want to be.
So he takes a deep breath- and if he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it fully, he decides, and throws the hottest, strongest plasma bolt he can.
He does remember to squeeze his eyes shut just as soon as he’s cast- but of course, it happens near instantly, so he still has white dots and a jagged blur dance behind his eyelids, ruin his night vision when he blinks his eyes back open again.
The lights from the windows of the castle are fuzzy and haloed with moisture that hasn’t quite decided if it wants to become a fog or a drizzle, but there’s enough light for him to see the jagged splash of soot on the pale stone of the floor. The air smells metallic, and there’s a few light, gritty flakes brushing his face- he wipes one off, feels it smear under his finger, looks to see a black smudge. Ash. That’s all that’s left of the costume.
Darcy giggles, then claps her hands and beams at him.
“That was great, Arthur-dear!”
He gives her a hesitant smile, and listens inside of himself, tries to decide if he feels any different.
Maybe? A little?
More… settled in this life, maybe. Scholar and mage- no nobility, kingships, prestige, being-in-charge for him. Using others for his own gain.
No, he doesn’t want any of that.
And maybe that’s okay.