In Which Aldhein Wakes a Sleeping Hatred

February 5, 1165

It had been Aldhein's hope that all the guests would have been gone by now, but it seemed that Lord Severin had other ideas. Admittedly, it was better he than a less agreeable personage, but in all honesty, Aldhein wanted nothing more than to just get this whole damn day done and over with.

Florian took the initiative of acknowledging him before Aldhein did--not that it was much of a problem. "Did her ladyship leave without you, my lord?"

Pulling himself from the chair, his lordship shook his head. "She knows better than to go riding alone these days. No, she'd scarcely put on her cloak when she was overwhelmed with sudden bout of nausea--Aldhein, I hope you don't have too strong a personal fondness for those bushes by the side of your house."

"Not particularly," he replied, staring at the wall as he resisted the urge to gnaw his own tongue off. He'd managed two words--that was enough for now.

Of course, Florian was not of the same school of thought. "Nausea, you say? Is she pregnant?"

Lord Severin shuddered. "Dear God, I hope not."

Florian's elbow met Aldhein's side with a sharp jab, as though cuing him to some witty remark, but Aldhein was not in the mood to joke about matters such as pregnancy. Instead, he chose to simply let his eyes fall to the wooden floor, the rough grain as foreboding as a labyrinth of thorns. "I understand your sentiments, my lord."

He watched as the toe of Lord Severin's boot lifted and fell. "Aldhein, might I request a favor of you?"

With some difficulty, Aldhein raised his eyes to meet those of the other. "Yes, my lord?"

"Just... be gentle with her, all right?" Lord Severin advised, with all the seriousness of wary father. "You're well aware that she still hasn't told anyone exactly what happened that day, so for all we know, she may have endured a horrific ordeal. I realize that you're used to a, uh... wilder sort of woman, but Alsina's in a very delicate state right now, and I doubt she has the resilience of someone like Thetis or Nora. If she doesn't feel comfortable with what the two of you are supposed to do tonight... well, don't force her into anything. Don't become the one who did this to her."

He didn't need to be told all this; all Lord Severin had done was put Aldhein's own fragmented thoughts to sensible words. "I'll be good to her."

"I'm relieved to hear it."

If he had anything more to say, he chose to withhold it. The room fell into an uneasy silence, untouched by even the softest of breathes. Aldhein fiddled with the foreign band on his finger. He'd never expected so tiny a thing to be such a weight; it was a hundred pounds if it was an ounce. How did men carry such burdens for so many years? Would this Promethean binding truly continue to tether him all the way to the grave? Beyond, even?

"Don't worry, Aldhein," muttered Florian, interrupting his troubled thoughts. "I didn't catch most of what he had to say either. It's his own fault, really; sometimes, I swear that man only talks because he likes the sound of his own voice."

Frowning, Aldhein sent an apologetic glance Lord Severin's way. The other man's brow twitched, but he refrained from commenting, no doubt accustomed enough Florian's general lack of manners that he deemed it useless--or even harmful--to put him in his place. Fortunately, his wife bounded through the front door and straight into his arms, relieving the room's tension as only an exceptionally pretty face could.

"Feeling better, Princess?" he asked as the pair of them released each other.

Lady Alina nodded. "Much, thank you. No need to worry--I probably just ate something funny."

"Or maybe you're eating for two," suggested Florian offhandedly.

Her ladyship laughed--somewhat forcibly, at that. "Florian, I've had seven babies; I know when I'm pregnant. Anyway, congratulations, Aldhein," she added, pulling him aside and wrapping her arms around him.

Aldhein returned the embrace with a grimace. He hadn't thought about whether or not to put up with the whole fidelity notion just yet, but regardless, this was likely the closest he would get to a grown, fully-developed woman for quite some time. "Thank you, your ladyship."

She pecked him on the cheek, then spun away, her dainty fingers interlocking with those of her husband. "Oh, but don't mind us--we won't keep you any longer, will we, Severin?"

"Not at all," he agreed, placing his arms around her waist and pulling her away from the crowd. He nudged the door open with his elbow, then flashed Aldhein and his groomsmen a parting grin. "So long, children! Have a nice night."

Lady Alina winked. "I know we will."

Lord Severin responded with a laugh, then ushered his wife out the door, closing it behind them. As they left, three women emerged from the bedroom; Aldhein's veins constricted to what must have been their smallest possible diameter.

Evaleith and Thetis at her heels, Falidor and Alsina's sister Nora glanced toward the men with a half-hearted attempt at a smile. "Well, we're ready. It's your turn now."

"Is she all right?" asked Ceidrid, frowning.

Evaleith shrugged. "Fine as she'll ever be, I guess. Might want to catch her before she falls asleep, though."

"She did seem quite tired," agreed Thetis.

"We'll be quick," Florian assured them. "Oh, and Falidor, kindly take your eyes off my wife's breasts. Thanks."

Falidor went as crimson as his sister's dress while Thetis struggled to hold back a giggle. She then took Evaleith by the arm and led her to the couch; Nora, meanwhile, turned to Aldhein. It seemed to him that every time her blue eyes met his own, they looked even more broken. Her young life had held far too many tragedies for the number of years it had thus far spanned; he might have pitied her if he had any pity left to spare, or if she was the sort of girl who cared for pity in the first place.

"Thank you for doing this," she muttered as she embraced him, the bulge of her child pressing against his core. "I let her put on the nightgown, as you requested. Please... be gentle with her, all right?"

Aldhein pressed his lips to her brow, then nodded. "Don't worry about it." There was no need for her to do that; he was already worrying enough for the both of them.

Nora drummed her fingers across his back, then stepped aside, joining the other two women on the couch and allowing Florian to push him around the corner and into the bedroom. Ceidrid and Falidor followed closely, Falidor shutting the door as quietly as he could.

Florian brushed past the bed, turning his head for the briefest of moments. "No peeking, Alsina."

She didn't reply; in fact, Aldhein suspected she was already asleep.

She lay with the stillness of a glass figurine; she may as well have been a corpse in a coffin. Her flaming hair was not so shiny as he remembered, and the shadows that pooled beneath her eyes served to prove the paleness of her flesh.

When he had first met her, she had been a feisty, spirited little thing, as full of life and potential as the sweetest of spring blossoms. In time, she'd grown--taller, older, but no wiser--into a restless, perhaps reckless young woman, ravishing and fiery as the summer sun. He had married her mere hours ago, hours which she had endured as a silent, trembling creature, troubled and skeletal and exposed as a tree that was fast shedding its autumn leaves; now, here she was, set with an eerie stillness, frozen in the wake of winter's Judas kiss.

Florian needn't have told her not to look. She had no intention of looking. She had no intention of ever sensing anything again, whether it be the sight of her naked husband or the song of a morning bird or the touch of whatever demon had come upon her that day she undoubtedly wished she could forget.

Gnawing at his lip, Aldhein forced himself to turn away from her. The last thing he wanted to do was look at her, but as always, it was difficult to stop once he began.

Behind him, Ceidrid shifted audibly. "Are you all right?"

Aldhein grunted in reply, not fully sure as to whether it was a yes or a no. If Ceidrid had a clearer insight, he did not share it.

In front of him, Falidor gestured for him to turn around. "All right... now we have to get you out of those clothes."

"There's something Falidor hasn't said to any effect in quite some time," jeered Florian as Aldhein hesitantly complied. Under any other circumstance, he might have found Florian's joke at Falidor's expense amusing, but this was a different case. He felt more comfortable with as many barriers between himself and Alsina as possible; any clothing he wore constituted a barrier.

He tried not to struggle as Falidor pulled the shirt off of him, then removed his boots and proceeded to his pants. It was an alien experience... when had been the last time he'd been undressed by a man? Before he'd been capable of undressing himself, he was sure of it.

Finally, Falidor tossed the slacks aside and pulled himself to his feet. "Done."

Florian sneered. "Not quite."

"I can take it from here," Aldhein sighed. "Just... go home, won't you?"

None of the three of them budged; he rolled his eyes. "All right, think of it this way--do any of you honestly want to see any more of me than this?"

He'd never seen a room's population halved so quickly; if only it hadn't been such a bittersweet victory.

Once he had heard the last of the footsteps making their way from the house, Aldhein swallowed and faced his bride once more. She hadn't stirred since he'd last laid eyes on her--not that he had expected otherwise.

The sight of her pulled forth a chain of old memories, one he preferred not to think about, but always found himself dwelling on in the event that it was summoned. He'd been about nine at the time, maybe ten, and every morning, a girl would walk by the house on her way to the well. She'd been a few years older than he was, a small and blond, a pretty little thing. They'd never spoken--to this day he didn't know her name, and he doubted she'd ever known his--but if he happened to be outside when she passed, she would be sure to flash him a smile.

Then, one day, she stopped smiling. She shrunk away into gloom, her pace slowing, her skip fading into a dull trudge. Her stomach swelled, her dresses diminished; her golden hair fell from her scalp and her lovely face became a waxen skull. One day, Aldhein had looked to the old cemetery and caught sight of a few men digging a fresh grave. Innately, he had known it was for her.

After her death, he heard fragments of the story from various villagers, piecing it together after a few days of sorting through twisted secondhand gossip and seemingly common opinions. She'd had some sort of altercation with a man--consensual, rape, too drunk to even remember, he didn't know--and had become pregnant as a result, and the bastard wouldn't marry her. She'd had a weak father and a cruel stepmother, the former failing to find her a husband and the latter insisting she be cast out as a result of this. No one had helped her after that; she had slowly perished in the streets, the baby with her.

Whatever the circumstances, he hated the man who had done that to that girl. He hated the man who had done that to Alsina. Most of all, he hated himself. He'd lusted after her too, this little girl, this mere child; secretly, he was no better than the brute who had inflicted his spawn upon her in the first place.

He must have been breathing too loudly, he realized too late; her eyes briefly flickering open, Alsina rolled over, facing him. "Aldhein?"

It was the first word she had spoken all evening, save the obligatory oath of 'I will'. Shaking his head, Aldhein made his way about the room, dousing every lit candle with a pinch of his fingers. He then shut the window and allowed himself one last parting glance at his cadaverous young wife. "I'll sleep in the guest bedroom tonight. Good night, Alsina."

"Wait," she rasped as he stormed out of the bedroom. "Wait, don't..."

"Good night!" he snapped once more, slamming the door behind him and proceeding to the stairs. Something told him that this would be far from the last night he spent alone.

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