In Which Lonriad Isn't Stopped

March 11, 1186

"How are you feeling?"

Concerned, yet calm and casual. Rudolphus, up until the last few days, had been similarly composed. Denial, Lonriad had concluded; his older sons were in denial. His three younger children, having seen peers lose parents and realizing their own were so much older, were well aware that he was halfway past the velvet curtain--too aware, perhaps.

But as the parents of his older sons' friends had perished, Lonriad and Viridis and Laveria had all lived on. Death was for other people's parents. Had Laveria not gone so suddenly, Severin still would have been shocked. His mother had, as far as his mortal mind was concerned, lived long enough to live forever. His father had lived even longer.

And for all Lonriad would have loved a little more time, one day, Severin would understand that nearly eighty-five years was more than many got. "Last few weeks? Not so great. Last eight decades? Well, I've made my mistakes, but at least I got the time to correct them."

"Father..."

"Sit with me."

Severin had never much liked to do as he was told, but he did so anyway. He probably did have a better grasp of reality than his older brother did, having lost his mother. Still a shock after all these years, though.

"At this point, you probably thought I'd never die."

His son stared over at the wall. Might've been tough to look at him. "I've made a point not to think about it."

"Flattering. Not practical--" He coughed. He pretended not to see Severin flinching. "--but flattering. I trust your kids are well? And their kids?"

"Barring any developments since I've left."

"Good. I've told your brother to make a donation in my name to Raia's university." He wouldn't live to see the first of his descendents attend, but this would be the next best thing. "Make sure it gets put to good use. Since those kids will be putting off marriage a few years, maybe something for the inevitable pent-up urges: correspondence classes for students in trouble, maybe, or childcare or... you know, emergency mixtures. Something that will get the monks' knickers in a twist."

"The Duke of Luperia Center for Reproductive Options. It would ruffle a few feathers."

"Damn right it would. Besides, I've spent a good nine tenths of my life making the ladies' pleasure a priority; I'm not about to let something as mundane and commonplace as death--" Another cough. And a couple more. "--stop me there."

"Interesting phrasing. But yes, I think such services would be helpful." Severin smiled, taking the opportunity to glance him over. Probably looking for any hint of recovery, the poor kid. "Perhaps you'll be up and about for the opening ceremonies."

"I'll have a splendid view from the next plane, I'm sure." And hopefully that view would include Nora's cleavage. A naughty thought, but he'd take that as a perk of dying.

"Father--"

"Oh, don't you worry that you came here for nothing. I was promised smoked bacon for breakfast tomorrow, so damned if I go before then." Never mind the woman who'd be bringing that bacon--still just as beautiful as the day they'd wed. She'd been so much more than he deserved. Maybe in some other life, he'd get a chance to make it up to her. "Besides, if your stepmother is amiable to the idea, I'm hoping for one last roll in the sack."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Taimyra Takes a Cue

February 15, 1183

"Mother! Father!" Taimyra heaved herself out of her father-in-law's desk chair and greeted her parents with successive embraces. In her haste to send off that reply to Jeda, she'd almost forgotten that they would be visiting. "How nice to see you! How is everything back home?"

"Not bad. Celina's due in less than a month--and that's not the only new grandchild we can expect within the year, I see." Her mother winked as she pressed one hand to Taimyra's firming stomach. She was barely showing yet, but there was no hiding a pregnancy from Viridis of Luperia. "You and Farilon sure didn't waste any time."

"Yes, well... we love the girls, but we do still need an heir." But unlike a certain other royal, from what she could figure from Jeda's letters--they'd only briefly met in person, but once Taimyra had married, she'd struck up a correspondence, crown princess to crown princess--Farilon did not pressure her for sex, nor did he disregard the possibility of his brothers inheriting should he die sonless.

And he certainly never faulted her for any perceived infertility! Yes, they had been married for ten years now. Yes, they only had two children, ages six years and eight-and-a-half months, to show for it. The people could think what they thought, but Farilon knew full well that it was hardly Taimyra's fault if he preferred his stepmother's brother to her.

"Well, either way, we'll all be delighted." Her mother drew back her hand with a smile. Her father's mouth didn't move--for once--but a twinkle in his eye told her that he agreed. Taimyra's mother only had three children, two of which were twins who were decades younger than their older brother, so her father had not been a man of King Ietrin's variety either--not that he'd had any right to be, what with her numerous half-siblings. Regardless.

Her father gestured to the couch by the wall. "Why don't you ladies sit down?"

"I can stand if you prefer, Father."

"Now, now. I must consider the comfort of my future grandchild--and while I may be old, I'm hardly dead." He stepped between Taimyra and her mother and offered them each an arm, then led them to the couch. Her mother sat, then after a nod of insistence from her father, Taimyra did the same. "So, your brother Severin tells me that your friend Jeda has given birth."

"Yes, to a little boy. Prince Holden."

"Holden." Her father smirked. "I would have guessed Roderick--or Searle, based on sheer statistics. Where the hell did Jeda get an original name like Holden from?"

"Her stepmother, maybe--Holladrin. They were very close. If she'd had a daughter, I bet you anything her name would have been Holladrin."

"She may yet have another daughter," her mother mused. "Now that the stress of providing an heir has been lifted, it may be easier for them to conceive again."

Taimyra nodded, though she couldn't be sure. From the sounds of it, Ietrin had a curiously low number of suspected bastards for a man of his age and reputation, but had never realized this himself. The midwife in Naroni had also examined Jeda multiple times and found nothing abnormal. Did stress affect male fertility as it did female? No one ever spoke of male fertility. As far as most saw it, it was a given that a man could make sons, never mind that every other aspect of health varied from person to person and that it took two to make a baby.

"But you know..." Her father grinned, and she couldn't help but respond. Her father may have been a notorious cad, and while she might have wished otherwise, there was no denying the love there. "Call me an old fool, but your pregnancies seem to take cues from Jeda's. She has a girl, then you have a girl. She has another girl, then you have another girl. Maybe you'll have your boy too."

"Maybe." Somewhere inside her, a tiny limb tickled. "But we'd love another little girl too."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Lonriad Predicts the Poems and Ballads

May 17, 1180

Laveria had been the only woman for whom Lonriad had ever considered buying flowers, but he never had, figuring they would be dismissed as frivolous and impractical. Now, though, he wished he'd taken the chance. A refusal by a living woman was infinitely preferable to an acceptance by her grave.

"I should have visited more often." And at Lonriad's age, his back would have protested--had protested, more than once. Never again would he let it have its way. "I never thought the last time I saw her would be... well, the last time I saw her," he finished lamely. He'd never been a poet at the best of times.

"You couldn't have known." That brought the total number of words Severin had spoken since they'd entered the crypt to four.

"No. But regardless, I should have come." He looked down at the roses again. The white ribbon had been a poor choice. Laveria had always hated white, as she'd had a messy occupation and white was impossible to keep clean. But black had seemed morbid. Pink, irreverent. No other color would have been any better. The red roses, however, felt right, or as right as they could have been. "But I suppose at my age, it's only a matter of time before I see her again."

Severin said nothing.

Laveria had been buried in the crypt at Severin's castle for lack of anywhere she might have preferred, empty save for her and dear Alina, who rested beside her. She had a simple tombstone, as Lonriad thought she would have preferred ("Why waste good money on me? I'm dead."), but there were some not-unpleasant carvings near the top and an attempt at a nice inscription, for all Laveria's life could never be summed up in five sentences or less. But perhaps it was better that way. Generations from now, when Severin and Nora, Jadin and Xeta and little Dalston, whoever followed them and whoever came next had filled the space, Lord and Lady Veldora and their children would come here to pay their respects to their ancestors and see the insufficient epitaph. Its emptiness would be maddening, unbearable. Poems and ballads would be written to fill it, but none would ever approach the truth.

Not the whole of it. No one ever had.

"Did she ever tell you? Any of it?"

For a man who had no doubt spent his whole life searching for a moment to ask that question, his son looked remarkably calm. But that wasn't surprising. He was her son too.

Lonriad shook his head. "It was never mine to know."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Falidor Is Actually Right

August 1, 1178

Of all the days Falidor could have gone home early.

He'd known that the duke was in town, and he'd known that the duke had left the castle an hour or so before he himself had, but he'd figured the man would have headed over to Searle and Lettie's to meet the new baby. Had Falidor known the duke planned on visiting Raia instead, he would have stayed longer; he liked his grandfather-in-law, but he could be a bit... much.

Speaking of 'much', Tavrin was also seated at the table. Yes... really picked the wrong day.

"Uh... hello?"

Raia greeted him with a smile. At least he had one good reason for getting home when he had. "I see my father set you free."

"Until tomorrow, yes." He nodded toward the two guests, about to dismiss himself on the grounds of checking up on the children--only when he remembered that they had a play-date with Had and Lyraina's two. Knowing his luck, they'd taken the dog too. "Your grace. Tavrin."

Tavrin's brows nudged upward. "Fal'dor."

"It's Falid--ah, never mind, close enough," he dismissed after a warning glare from Raia. He liked that she didn't sit around pining for him all day, and he loved that their marriage hadn't gotten in the way of her old friendships, but... well, her family had the strangest taste in company. Then again, what did that say about him? "I'll just take a seat and pretend you're wearing pants."

Raia groaned, but the duke chuckled. "Interesting fellow, isn't he? You know, I think we could take a hint from this society. What does it take to see a woman naked, really? Wine? Money? Hours and hours of courtship? Really takes a toll on a man if you add it all up. But if everyone was naked all the time..."

He trailed off, apparently interrupted by the bliss of his own imagination. Falidor sat down and tried to remember what it was like to know normal people. "God, I'm glad the kids aren't here."

The back of Raia's hand smacked into his arm. "Be nice."

"Yes, dear."

The duke flicked his wrist and made some juvenile whipping sound before turning back to Tavrin. "So, tell me more about this tribe of yours. Is everyone even naked in the winter? God, what a sight that must be! All these shapely young women pelting each other with snowballs, their bosoms bouncing as they run away..."

Tavrin shook his head. "We have three grown women. One sister. One grandmother."

"Oh." Falidor couldn't quite pinpoint the duke's expression. He must have been aiming for sympathy, but some part of him had to have been thinking that it wasn't his sister or his grandmother. This was the duke, after all--a man who would no doubt still be siring bastards every which way when Falidor was dead and buried. "Well... that's hard luck there, son."

"It's fine. Not that interesting, really... but Metal Man thought like you."

Heh? Falidor glanced over at Raia, hoping she was a little more well-informed. She wasn't. "Metal Man?"

"Metal Man. Shiny Dovan living in woods."

Spoken like he thought he was helping. At least they weren't talking about nudity anymore. "Uh... you mean there's some sort of... statue thing just walking around?"

Tavrin shrugged. "Kind of clunky walking, but I guess so."

"Like a knight in a suit of armor?" Raia suggested. Probably a long shot--who randomly went about in a suit of armor in August during peace time?--but it wasn't like there was a better explanation.

"Maybe. But his arm fall off once, I saw it. No flesh in there."

The duke frowned. "Can it talk?"

"No, but sometimes he waves. Plays tag with the kids, too--but he can't run fast."

"I'll bet." Raia smirked. "At least he's friendly?"

Her friend nodded. "Oh, yes. Never steps on flowers, always putting baby birds back in nests. Very nice... whatever."

What perplexed Falidor most might have been the fact that the rest of them seemed satisfied, mildly curious at most. Friendly or not, this whole notion seemed a little...

Wait. "Raia, did Lorn and Leara ever find that suit of armor that went missing last spring?"

Raia squinted. "No, but it's not like suits of armor just walk away. It had to have been stolen."

"Not saying it wasn't. Just... that was just a couple weeks before Remiel went on the run, wasn't it?"

The room already housed more characters than Falidor could usually handle, but it figured that the one time he was actually right about something, Florian wasn't around to see it. "You know... I think it was."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Nora Removes the Other Ears

April 29, 1177

It was clearly the same illness that had stricken Riona months prior, but whatever it was had affected Severin somewhat differently. He'd been a lot worse at the onset, and that initial phase had lingered longer... but now that it was past, he seemed to be recovering much more quickly than his daughter had.

In fact, Nora suspected that the only thing keeping him from being up and about was the resulting influx of overbearing company.

"You do look a lot better than the letter led us to expect, dear."

"You should have seen him last week."

"Falidor said the same, yes."

"Are we sure the pretty young wife isn't just wearing him out, if you catch my drift?"

Nora groaned. To think, she'd very nearly gone there once. "Your grace, I'm right here!"

Her father-in-law chuckled, earning him a smack on the arm from his wife. Nora half-expected Laveria to say something clever--Lord knew she always did when Lonriad was around--but her whole world seemed to consist of her son. Not that that was any surprise, seeing as that was how it had been since he'd fallen ill. "I thought I told you not to let him touch you."

"You said nothing of the like." Severin shut his eyes, his bare toes twitching in an annoyed wave. However he'd hoped to recover, it obviously hadn't been like this. "Besides, I already told you what happened. It's not as if I went in for a handshake or anything."

"I did tell you to stay away from him. You should have left it to Falidor. Or Nora; he couldn't have done anything to her."

Oy. "Again... right here."

Beside her, Severin sniffed. "So it's the bloodline, then."

"I never said--"

"But it's what you meant," Viridis concluded. "First this Remiel character does this to Riona, and now Severin. And since Lorn's family seems to be safe, it must be something on your side."

Laveria's heavy eyelids dropped, but she said nothing. Instead, it was Lonriad who took the opening. "You never did tell me anything about your family."

"There's nothing to tell."

Severin coughed. Efficient, really--clearing his lungs and calling bullshit with a single sound. But this wasn't going anywhere. Laveria wasn't about to budge. Not around Lonriad and Viridis, at least. Maybe not even around Nora herself. There were some truths meant only for certain ears.

Trying not to squirm beneath her best grimace, Nora peered over at Lonriad and Viridis. Oh the things people did for love. "Say... you two haven't met all of the children yet, have you?"

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Falidor Has Some Unexpected Guests

January 30, 1172

"He isn't exactly fond of sharing, is he?" laughed Raia's grandfather as he slung his arm around her grandmother. Falidor half-expected Laveria to push him away, but she never did; perhaps having just had a great-grandchild together did merit some celebratory cuddling. "Good thing Nora's about to pop any minute now, otherwise I doubt you'd be able to make him leave."

Laveria fell back onto Lonriad's shoulder, then sent a wink her granddaughter's way. "Frankly, I think the only thing that's keeping him from kidnapping her right now is this ridiculous heatwave--doesn't want her to get accustomed to such weather during this time of year."

"Do you mind keeping it down?" Those must have been the first words out of Lord Severin's mouth that hadn't been directed toward the baby. It was nice to know that the rest of them still existed in his world, really. "I think she's trying to sleep."

From her seat on the couch, Raia smirked. "Well, it isn't as if she didn't have a chance last night--not that she used it. Kept us up until dawn, didn't she, Falidor?"

And yet, here she was--fully dressed, ready to entertain obnoxious family members just as if she hadn't spent the better part of the previous evening shoving a baby from between her legs. Where did she get the energy? Ailede had spent a good week or so in bed after each time she gave birth, just because she figured she could; he knew she'd been milking the circumstances for all they were worth, but he'd thought most women might have taken at least a day or so to recuperate.

Then again, this was Raia.

Lord Severin shot a knowing glance back at Falidor, then resumed his gentle bouncing of the infant. "Raia, you tell me this as if I haven't gone through the exact same thing eight times already--going on nine! And by God, I'll have you know that you were the worst of them. Prepare yourself for many sleepless nights, my girl."

Shuddering, Raia pulled her legs up onto the couch and reclined. Falidor sent her a reassuring grin, then turned back to his father-in-law--God, that was such a bizarre thought! "Might I hold my daughter for a minute?"

"No!" That figured.

The duke, looking as if he was about to make a grab for Laveria's breast, chuckled. "What did I tell you? He used to be like that with his toys too."

Raia rolled onto her back and laughed, just as someone knocked on the door. "Falidor, do you mind getting that?"

"Might as well, seeing as apparently I can't be trusted with my own child." He sent a mock-glower Lord Severin's way, then proceeded to the door with a smile. Who might it have been? One of Raia's siblings? The duke and duchess, perhaps?

Or not. "Oh. It's you."

In response he received a wide smile--half apologetic, half amused. That he could have expected, he supposed, but... "My God! Are you actually wearing clothes?"

"Well, that more comf'terble for you, yes?" Suspicious, Falidor nodded; Tavrin seemed to take that as a blessing to continue. "Not comf'terble for me, though--very scratchy. How you Dovans wear these things?"

Stupid questions didn't deserve answers. Falidor sighed. "I take it you're here to see the baby?"

His eyes alight, Tavrin smiled again. "I right, then? Yesterday?"

"Yes--yesterday." If only because Raia wouldn't have been too happy about him denying her friend entrance, Falidor gestured for Tavrin to follow and returned to the living room. Lord Severin, now seated on the couch, had finally surrendered the baby; now it was Raia who was up and about, pacing around the room with little Alina in her arms. "Managed to get her back, I see."

"It wasn't easy." Shifting the baby into a cradled position, she caught sight of Tavrin and laughed. "Where the hell did you get those clothes?"

"Stoled them off laundry rope." He brushed past Falidor and proceeded instead to mother and child. Raia held out Alina so he could get a closer look; the baby's brown eyes widened. "She look just like you, yes? Your eyes--his hair, though."

"So it seems at this point, anyway."

"Oh, I think she always look like you." Falidor stepped around the table and planted himself firmly behind Raia as Tavrin waved at the little girl. Not even a day old and he was already wary of the men around his daughter--strange how that worked, really. "What her name?"

"Alina," Raia answered, raising the baby back to her shoulder, "for my mother."

Satisfied, Tavrin took a step back. "Pretty."

"Yes, we thought so too." As Raia began to massage the baby's back, someone else knocked on the door. "Falidor, could you get that?"

Sighing, he relented. This time, at least, it would probably be family--one of his siblings, no doubt, or perhaps one of his children.

...or maybe not. "Oh dear God!"

"Hello, I'm looking for the man who stole my clothes..."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Severin Ponders the Harsh Possiblity

June 8, 1169

Severin's eyelids might as well have been leaden slates. He struggled to open his eyes for a good few minutes, only to have them fall shut once more. Frustrated, he tried again, determined to keep them wide; it was far more difficult than he remembered. His head was pounding, aching as if being repeatedly stricken. He wondered if this was how a piece of molten metal might have felt atop an anvil.

It took a minute or so for him to recognize the old bedroom. His essentials had all gradually been moved to the guest room he frequented, and there hadn't been any need for him to set foot in here for months now. He still wasn't sure he was quite at ease here; he felt rather unworthy of this place.

"You're awake?"

Severin eased himself upwards, catching sight of his father, who was seated on the couch facing the empty hearth. He wasn't sure why Lonriad was here, but he could vaguely recall seeing him the previous night. "Seems like a reasonable guess. What time is it?"

"Getting close to the dinner hour now. Your mother is here, sitting up with your children; she and I have been trading off between them and you."

His own footsteps caused too much of an echo for Severin's taste; he winced as he rose from the bed, then took a long drink from the pitcher of water on the end-table. "She didn't need to come; I know she's busy."

Lonriad sniffed. "She worries about you--and it isn't as if you don't give her just cause to do so."

The pitcher was still about half-full. Severin indulged himself with another sip, then took a few labored steps toward the couch and sat down beside his father.

"Do my children hate me?" It was a harsh thought, but it the possibility seemed increasingly likely. He supposed he couldn't blame them if they did.

His father's posture straightened. "No. They might be a little... exasperated, perhaps, but they've all been waiting around since I brought you back last night; if they didn't care, they wouldn't be here."

"Even Jadin?" It had been three months since their argument; in all that time, his oldest son had yet to acknowledge him with anything more accommodating than an impatient grunt.

Lonriad nodded. "He's a very emotional boy, you know. Thought you might be dying--both your mother and I insisted that you weren't, but he wouldn't hear of it. Went into a crying fit and told me the last thing he ever said to you was how he wished you were dead instead of Alina."

Severin sank back against the couch's wooden frame and closed his eyes. "I hope he knows that I don't blame him."

"Likewise, if I should presume to speak on the boy's behalf, he hopes you know that he didn't mean it."

"Does it matter, though?" Severin pondered aloud, perhaps more to himself than to Lonriad. "Even if he didn't mean that, everything else he said that day was true. I've hardly been there for any of them since their mother died. They've all been hurting, but..." A sudden pain shot through the center of his brain; groaning, Severin rubbed his forehead, then glanced down at his wedding band. "I... I don't really know what happened. I haven't been sure about anything for a long time."

"It's because you're hurt," his father stated. "You're hurt, and your kids are hurt, and you might never stop hurting. You could fall in love with some pretty young thing and start adding to your family again, but every once in a while, you'll come across Alina's scent on an old pillow or something and it's going to hurt--and that's normal, I would imagine. Some heartaches just don't heal, but there might be a few tricks to managing the pain."

Some heartaches just don't heal... what did Lonriad, of all people, know about heartache? Nevertheless, it made enough sense that it seemed a mere formality to question the source. "What sort of tricks?"

His father shrugged. "Different for everyone, I suppose. Maybe try spending more time with your kids; there's no need for any of you to hurt alone."

Severin looked to his ring again. It was as gold and shiny and perfect as the day Alina slipped it onto his finger. "Can I see them?"

Lonriad nodded, then pulled himself to his feet. "They'll all be very happy to see you. They've already lost their mother; they shouldn't have to worry about losing you as well."

He stepped toward Severin's side of the couch and held out his hand; Severin took it and allowed himself to be pulled upward into a standing position. "Thank you."

A small smile on his lips, Lonriad pulled him into a tight hug and gently massaged the gap between Severin's shoulder-blades. "Just... try not to let things get to this point again, all right? You know what it's like to grow up with a father who spends more time chasing skirts than paying much attention to your emotional needs; don't make the same mistakes with your children that I did with you and your brother."

His apprehensions suddenly trivial, Severin sank downward and rested his chin on his father's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Father--about everything."

"I'm sorry too, son," Lonriad replied, his embrace strengthening. "Now, I think you need to march over to the dining hall and say that same thing to your kids."

NEXT CHAPTER: