Chapter 124
Previously: The Rose of Whitby – Chapter 123
“But…” Quincy decides to just go with it and skritches Hannibal’s chin. “Oh very well, I have more proper performance in my pinkie than you have overall, anyway. Now you, though, Hannibal, still need to hand me my weapon, or am I supposed to throw rose petals here?”
“It would fit your look, Molly.” Even as John chuckles at him, he leans down to gather a bunch of the petals and throws them over Quincy, who plays right along and strikes a pose while letting his hair whip to the side.
Starting to giggle hard, Darcy turns bat and makes circles over Quincy’s head, raining more petals down on him.
“You know what, honeys, let’s do this. I’m up for it! Hannibal, you are on looking-impressive duty, I’ll be the prettiest Prince Charming you’ve ever seen, and you, Cycy, fly overhead with the rose petals. If I can’t beat this dragon with a weapon, I can beat her by making her squeal!”
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Arthur joins in the laughter, and offers to get Hannibal ready. As he walks past Hannibal’s stall, though, nudging petals aside so they’ll have plenty for throwing purposes, he notices a bit of a mound of them. He crouches down, pokes at it, and feels some kind of long, round, light object.
“Hey, I found something.”
He pulls it out, and it turns out to be a lance- a papier-mâché one, he thinks. “Ha, there’s your weapon!” He also gives Hannibal a look, because this is pretty close to where he was looking through the petals. “You distracted me on purpose! Oh, don’t even look like that, I know you did!”
“Yes, he did! Because he’s a very good nightmare who wanted to help, too!” Darcy’s comments before she pulls something out of a pocket on her dress, but makes a point of Quincy not seeing it and offers it to Hannibal with a conspiratorial wink.
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John knows well enough that his favourite carnivore has questionable snack ideas, (he totally found her with some bacon in a pocket once,) so he doesn’t even look. Instead, he starts to gather some petals together, asks the house for a little open pouch, and then whistles for Darcy. He can see her half-jump at the whistle as she listens intently to which way he pulls the tone, and then immediately turns bat to follow the command.
She gets a ‘good drac’ from him and turns a chittering circle before they start figuring out how she can hold the pouch with one foot and get the petals out with the other.
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Uh huh, now if ever Quincy saw pet play with a fun twist, it would be that. Lucky girl indeed, smart, good looking, loyal to a fault, and trainable to be kinky. Pity the man’s homophobic. Oh well, working on it. Right now, he has a weapon to inspect, though, one he gets to quip about not being too heavy for him.
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While Quincy holds the lance, Arthur gets Hannibal ready as promised, and finds that Darcy decorated the tack with little ribbons all over. Making sure that none are actually in the way, (they aren’t, so maybe somebody who knows about horses helped her,) and shoving back when Hannibal decides to be more of a diva than he normally is, Arthur still manages to get him ready in a somewhat reasonable time.
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“How do you get up on this beast without a ladder?” And that certainly was the censored joke for Arthur’s benefit, but Quincy still grins at Darcy with a flick of his eyes to John, making her giggle even as a bat, oh yes, she might blush but she sure likes his dirty humour.
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Okay, fine, John admits it, whatever else can be said about the molly; he knows how to provide a show. There they are, striding up to the battlefield, Hannibal and Quincy competing for who is the worse drama queen, both preening and posing, but still seeming to be really serious about the entire setup. He makes sure to walk a bit off to the side so he gets a better view, just in case he wants to replay this for anybody. And maybe also because, hey, he’s not sappy, but his girl organised for them to have a dragon to spear through, and how often does he get to say that he already knows he’ll tell his grandchildren about something?
Yeah, he might need to make any kids with whatever wife he ends up with, but the woman who made all this possible, the real mother of his children, is circling right overhead. And no, he doesn’t give a fuck that he’s looking at a bat and has his heart beat hard. That’s his bat, his drac, and he couldn’t care less what she looks like right that moment, it’s the same soul in there. The soul he has sworn to love, no matter what comes. He’s loyal to her even when it hurts, because she’s worth it.
Especially when she, in his eyes, steals the show even on one of the most fucking epic scenes he’s seen so far. Yes, the way the air shimmers around Hannibal’s hooves when he starts trotting, starts cantering, gives the entire image something magical far beyond the fact that Quincy’s eyes and hair make him seem perfectly inhuman with the way John can see the moonlight glint on them.
The lance is aimed true and the rhythm of steed, rider, and weapon all turn into one concentrated power of will and determination as they dash towards the dragon. They only appear harsher, more forged in steel and ice, for the juxtaposition of the rain of soft petals.
Through the image of hoof and claw, mane and horns, all John can focus on is the way that Darcy’s fur is a much deeper red than the rose petals. He can’t help the overlap in his mind, the red of her fur morphing to the colour of her blood, even as the lance strikes, not her chest, but her mother’s.
The lance might crumple, but he still feels as if he has the knife in his hand again.
Darcy’s red fur, Lucy’s purple scales, the lance falling, the knife falling.
It all swirls together in his head, and he wants to shout, but somehow he can’t, because as much as his emotions are a whirlwind, he cannot help but see the terrible beauty in it all. He weaves dreams, plays in colours, and expressions, and builds realities… He builds his own reality even when awake, and he stepped into her gothic fairy tale. He needs to learn to see the beauty in death and pain… and has she not taught him that a long time ago?
Lucy goes down, clutching a claw to her chest as Hannibal turns from the canter, dances triumphantly with Quincy tall atop his warhorse.
And John doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more obvious metaphor in his life.
Darcy allowed him to see the metaphor, allowed him to realise that yes, determination and a stubborn enjoyment of life can overcome even the monsters one builds.
There is no blond in Lucy’s mane, but he knows, he remembers the time his mind unbidden made her into his mother. His mother, who didn’t fake dying, but still, he looks at Lucy and for a moment, he feels tears sting his eyes.
Tears he still hasn’t shed about his own mother, never could, and maybe never will. But Quincy, their molly, that fucking symbol of unapologetically being who he is and the world be damned, makes him think that maybe, it’s time to let his mother be dead. And that, in so many ways, is more epic than the fairy tale scene he just got to see.
The molly’s alright, he really is, and maybe John’s not all that fond of how immortal vampires are, they seem like a horrible way of stagnating, but the dhampirs, no, they live so hard, bright, and against all odds, that John just can’t help feeling more alive around them, too. So fuck, yes, he’s glad they have two now. One he loves because she is his life and one who makes that life just a little bit warmer.
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Arthur runs over to where Lucy is lying sprawled on the grass with a big dragon grin on her face and where Hannibal is prancing around, feels like laughing himself- that was one of the silliest and most fun things he’s ever seen! With the rose petals and the obviously-fake lance and everything!
“That was awesome!” he tells them when he arrives. “Do we get our next riddle now?” And yes, they do (‘Bees make me, bats shun me, yet the table I still grace,’) and also more numbers for whatever the final puzzle is.
Hannibal and Quincy preen a little more, and then Arthur asks the house for the mounting block so Quincy can get back down. (Yes, the answer to ‘how does he get on his horse without a ladder?’ is, generally: ‘With a ladder.’) He also wants to ask Lucy a lot of questions about what it’s like to turn into a dragon, but she promises she’ll tell him some other time, for now, they have a treasure hunt to finish.
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Walking over with Darcy (still as a bat) sitting on his shoulder, John wants to know the riddle and chuckles because, uh huh, that one’s terribly obvious to him, not just because a certain bat is licking his cheek affectionately and might or might not have told him once that he tastes nice outside and inside because he’s salty. His girl can be an adorable weirdo, but he’ll let the others take a guess before he answers.
“Can I remind everybody that I wasn’t fond of honey and sugar and all those other waist murderers before I discovered blood as a diet improvement?” Quincy quips while he’s still petting Hannibal. “But that sounds like we are up for finding something in the kitchen.”
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“Weirdo,” Arthur dares to quip at Quincy. Though, well. Not like the taste of honey hasn’t lost some of its appeal to him. It just reminds him too much of that day- but this isn’t the time or place for that, and he shoves those thoughts aside. He’s in a good mood and having fun, and he’s not going to let memories spoil that.
Before he can go and take Hannibal back to the stables, Art joins them and holds out his hand for the reins, tells him with a smile that he’ll see to Hannibal, they can run along. So Arthur gives Hannibal another big hug for playing with them, and joins the others on the way to the kitchens.
They find Mrs Harker (and Dr Seward) there, who tells them their task is to prepare a meal. Which… well, it’s a good thing she’s there, because Arthur can only volunteer himself for cutting things and such. He might’ve helped her prepare a few meals now, but that doesn’t mean he has much of an idea of how to put one together.
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They what?! John finds himself with a spike of discomfort, half a step backwards, evaluating if he can vanish out the door, but Darcy licks at his cheek again, then jumps to the floor to change to her human form and leans tight into him to whisper gently into his ear: “Papa made me treats when I was little. I thought we should learn together from him how to do that so we can be better for our babies. You know that my papa is the bestest papa in the whole wide world, so that he knows how to cook means that good papas do that, and I just know you’ll be the very best.”
There still is tension in John’s hands as he puts them around Darcy, but… that’s a good argument. What if, well, Darcy doesn’t really get sick, he thinks, but what if she’s really busy with the barony or they are out for work and there’s no castle to make the food? Can he really expect Darcy to be a baroness and make all the food?
That… that’s exactly the kind of pressure he hated so much when he was forced to do all the things a good woman is expected to do. No matter if she hates it or not. He doesn’t want to be that kind of husband, that kind of man. And… sure, Seward isn’t the kind of guy he thinks of when he envisions who he wants to be seen as, but he is still unquestionably a man. And isn’t that really the most important part? Being seen as the man he is.
So fine, with Darcy right at his side, and being shown by a man, he can deal with this.
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Seeing the way Cycy and John are huddled up and that Jackie (screw it, too much fun not to,) is pulling them a bit to the side, Quincy suspects there’s more going on over there, so oh yes, he’s in on that mission. Give the adorable couple (and he will get them there!) space he can do, so he skips over to Arthur and goes for morale support because cooking, not his strong point either, but he’s happy to get artsy with the presentation!
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Unlike the other times that Arthur helped cook before, Mrs Harker is really taking the time to explain what they are doing, and why. They are making potato gratin and ‘bœuf en croûte’- which is French for ‘beef in pastry’. So the potatoes need to be sliced very thin and evenly so they bake properly, and the beef is already tender, but now needs to be wrapped and baked again. So Arthur slices and Quincy arranges the potatoes aesthetically in the dish, and then they learn how to make the sauce that goes with it, while Mrs Harker and Dr Seward have half an argument about French vs British cheeses- a teasing, friendly sort of argument, not a real one.
It’s warm in the kitchen, and it smells nice, and actually, preparing food with everyone is surprisingly fun, Arthur thinks. Also, well, he likes learning things. And as Mrs Harker says, it’s always good to know how to feed yourself.
Also, there are platters piled high with biscuits and roasted chestnuts for them to snack on while working. And even Darcy sneaks some of the chestnuts, apparently those are more to her taste than the delicious-looking chocolate frosting that John and her are working on.
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“This has to be the first time I see you snack on anything that isn’t bloody,” John laughs as Darcy gets playful and sticks a chestnut into her rat mouth to show off that she can just about manage before her papa chides her softly, no fur on top of the kitchen tables please.
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Across from them, Quincy has to restrain himself hard not to make a suggestive comment about Cycy being so eager to show John how much she can cram into her face, shouldn’t he know that already? But no, Arthur is right there, and he shouldn’t be so amused that that holds him back more than his mother being there.
He still will never like kitchen work, but he has always agreed with his mother, it’s important to be able to cook, especially because he’s known for a while that he doesn’t want a wife and should he somehow manage to make it into his twenties, well, it’s the apparent bachelor life for him. But in either case, there’s lots of talking and some bickering and that part of this he really enjoys… plus the chance to occasionally poke John’s male ego by asking him if he can’t carry heavy things for him. That man is far too easy and fun!
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Once they have finished with dinner, Mrs Harker and Dr Seward each give them another number for whatever the final puzzle is, but first, they are tasked with setting the table in the dining room for everyone, and having dinner.
Curious as Arthur is about the end of the treasure hunt, he doesn’t actually mind waiting. It’s fun to eat with everybody, well, everybody except the vampires. (And Gregory- no one knows where he is, Arthur thinks, except Darcy, or is inclined to find him. Including Arthur himself, after what he said this morning to Darcy. He doesn’t even put a plate down for him.) And Art and Lucy Jr arrive a bit late, so he assumes they were involved in further preparations.
At this point, the treasure hunt feels more like a series of games that they’ve played all day long- like that is the point of it, rather than reaching the goal. And maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be? Just like with the one in the dreamscape for his birthday, Arthur decides he’s really enjoying it. Especially after everything that’s happened these last few weeks, it’s just great to… have fun for a day and think of nothing more important than riddles and puppies.
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Darcy does her best at looking inconspicuous as she first shoves the crust of her roast at John, and then the majority of her Yule log at her Daddy, but clearly she’s not really managing because she can see her Papa smirk at her, but he’s not reprimanding her and really, this… this is so nice. Everybody is relaxed and they are laughing with each other, she thinks she did really well today, and maybe that means she made up a little bit for how bad she was. She still doesn’t know what her family got for having sold her to Llew, but maybe it is this happiness and she’d be okay with that.
After they clear off dessert and she beamed at Arthur and Daddy both liking that terribly sweet thing she and John made, she wiggles in her chair to make sure she’s really sitting well centered underneath the family crest, then tells Arthur the final letter and number combination so he can solve the paint-by-number puzzle on the two sheets. She’s eager to see how long it takes him to figure it out. They’ve all been doing so well with the puzzles, she’s so proud of them.
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Arthur eagerly turns to his sheet now that he has all the numbers to slot in. He hasn’t given the equations a good look so far since he didn’t have all the information to solve them, but now tilts his head as he reads through them. For a moment, he’s confused, because they read like “2 x A/B/C/D = First/Fifth/Ninth/Thirteenth,” and he wonders if he’s supposed to read the slashes as division marks. But, no, given the sequence at the end, he decides they’re variations. So, “2 x A” is the “first” and so on.
On the other side of his sheet is a big cloud of numbers and the sentence “You can only swim underneath the others”. That doesn’t make any sense yet, so for a start, he begins working out the sequence of numbers. Of course, he talks over his conclusions with Quincy and John.
John has a similar sheet, but with different equations and the hint “You can only grow above the others”. Quincy groans dramatically at them having to do maths, but John looks thoughtful as Arthur circles the numbers he finds in his cloud. “Wait,” he says, takes a pencil, and starts to draw connecting lines between the numbers, in sequence. “Thought so. It’s a picture,” he adds, when some kind of shape starts to emerge.
“Drawing! I can do that!” Quincy immediately volunteers.
“You sure about that? Not looking like much, your sister would have been better at it,” John teases back only to snort when Lucy Jr loudly announces that she would be better at the maths than Arthur, too.
For a moment, Arthur considers being insulted- but she’s seven, and also, she is really good at maths. So he tells her that, and also, that she’d probably be bored with this maths, because it’s not very difficult.
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Blondie better be glad that Quincy won’t flip him off in front of his sister. Instead, he focuses on making the lines flow as best he can between the points. One is kind of obviously a tree, the other one, uh, no idea? But the line accompanying the number cloud, that’s directions he’s pretty sure: above and underneath. Not that that second thing makes any more sense to him once he puts it below the tree. “Anybody want to guess?”
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Arthur tilts his head, because yes, it’s a bit of a basic drawing, but it looks very much like a horse head and neck and raised front hooves, and a fishtail. “That’s a hippocampus,” he says.
John grunts in agreement. “Under a tree- family crest.”
When he says it, Arthur remembers, yes, seeing the crest around, on their mail and things. In fact… didn’t he see it just a little while ago? In colour? At the periphery of his vision? He looks around the dining room, and well, yes, there it is, big and green and gold, on the wall on a banner behind Darcy’s seat. “Aha!” he says, because no way is that a coincidence- was that banner even there before today? He can’t remember clearly, but he kind of thinks not.
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Beaming at them, Darcy giggles with a wave, they have found the crest but they clearly haven’t read the hint yet. So she keeps quiet, bouncing in her seat.
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“There’s a general one?” Quincy tilts his head at reading over the other sentence on the sheets, the one that only makes sense in combination: When respectfully facing my last heir … the universal magic word will reveal the final clue. “Arthur, if I’m not completely idiotic now, you are a mage, so uh, is there some kind of word of power or something?”
That makes John snort. “Fishing for final confirmation much, Molly?”
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“Huh?” Arthur says, reads the last hint, too. “No? You don’t actually need words to do magic?” A universal magic word? No, that’s definitely not something that has to do with actual magic, but he’s stumped on what else it would be, then.
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“Abracadabra?” Even while Quincy tries it, he sees Cycy’s tell-tale miserable poker face, John’s is better but he’s pretty sure he figured it out already so, with a huff, he shoos at him. “Don’t give me that superior look, go show off, you hunk. This is all cheated anyway because you know her best. As you should.”
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“Want another try before I do just as Molly suggested?” John smiles at Arthur, he is pretty sure the other two got tricked by the formulation and the fairy-tale theme. Darcy pulled something on them there, but it’s a hint combined with heir and under the family crest, this is etiquette, not real magic.
“Uh… I have no idea?” Arthur offers. “Go ahead.”
Getting up to stand right in front of Darcy, across the table, John bows at her, lifts his head only, and has to fight a little bit not to chuckle because of how much she’s bouncing in her chair. She’s so excited and he loves to see her like that so, fine, Quincy’s not the only one who can do a little bit of drama. He sweeps the bow deeper and intones rather than just saying it: “If my lady may indulge me, please.”
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With a squeal Darcy claps her hands, her John looks so valiant, so much like a knight come to beseech his sworn lady-love, oh, she wants to throw him a handkerchief when he’s like that. Instead, she gives out the final hint: “The English may sit yet French ladies invented me to talk.”
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While Arthur is happy that John figured out the hint, he still doesn’t understand where any ‘magic word’ comes into it, and glances at Quincy for an explanation. Also for where English people sit and French people talk. A specific room, he assumes? …The only one he can think of that sounds French would be a ‘salon’?
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“Honey, your lack of proper upbringing is showing. ‘Please’ is the magic word, and I should have realised that faster. As to French inventions… Uh, I’m just not going to comment on what I associate with French,” Quincy muses as he tries to get a clue out of any direction Cycy is glancing at, but she’s a little bit too obviously making eyes at John, and really, that’s also a good outcome, so back to actually having to think.
“…Oops,” Arthur says, but also: “…Why is ‘please’ a magic word? And, um, yes, thank you for not commenting. Could it be a salon? That sounds kind of French? I can’t think of another room that sounds French. Unless it’s a reference to a piece of furniture you sit on?”
Oh shush brain, you are preoccupied, clearly, and yes, the last shag he had was Cobb and that’s not really worth a mention, so no wonder that now he’s wondering if the French have nice furniture for French escapades. They probably do and it’s an affront that he’s unaware. With an effort, he gets his head back to riddles rather than wondering if he’ll get murdered if he asks Lucy for more explicit tag-team hunting later. “It may be, that is where you’d sit after all, maybe the French invented it for discussions?”
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“We can check, anyway, I assume we’ll notice if we’re wrong,” Arthur decides and gets up. He glances at John, but he seems busy cuddling with Darcy, so he looks back at Quincy, shrugs, and starts heading towards the door of the dining room to check the salon, because… well. Darcy and John seem to be having a moment there, he thinks it’d be rude to interrupt them.
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Chuckling, Quincy walks along, and is pretty sure they are on to something, because he can see Jackie try to wave at Cycy to get her out of adorable land. Meaning, he doesn’t want her to miss the big reveal.