In Which Rudolphus Sees Whom He Loves More

September 16, 1167

Though Raia had assured them that Severin had known to expect them, Rudolphus wasn't quite convinced. His brother looked far less like a man confronted with heralded company than a man who had simply lost his ability to be surprised. The Lord God and the Devil himself could have danced in together like fellow barflies and Severin would not have blinked.

But now that he thought about it, he had been expecting worse. At least Severin actually seemed to have been attending to some business, which was an improvement--from what he'd heard, the older children had been forced to pick up much of his slack over the past few months.

"Son," Lonriad addressed him as he closed the door behind him. Following his lead, Rudolphus locked eyes with his brother and nodded. Their father had lectured him incessantly over the course of their journey--"Don't mention anything about Alina being your betrothed!" this and "You'd damn well better be nice to your brother!" that--and the last thing he needed was an after-the-fact lashing that lasted the entire return trip.

It wasn't as if he wanted to be here. The woman he'd longed for all these years was dead, and he'd been dragged along to pay his respects and give his sympathies to her husband, who happened to be his little bastard half-brother. He would have almost preferred to be home with his hideous shrew of a wife, and his bawling little drip of a son, and the daughter to whom he had to lie through the teeth every time she asked him if she was pretty. No matter what else lurked at home, he would not have been in the presence of a ghost.

Severin pulled himself from the desk chair and made his way toward Rudolphus and Lonriad. For a second, he looked to be attempting a polite smile, but the weight of it proved too heavy for his tired, listless lips. "Father. Brother."

Before arriving here, Rudolphus had decided that he blamed Severin for Alina's death. And really, who could argue with that? After all, had it not been Severin's spawn the killed her? And even if it hadn't, had he not been the one to drag her away from Rudolphus and into this godforsaken valley in the first place? By no logical means was there anyone else who could have been responsible. Now, however, he was beginning to have second thoughts. Babies were dangerous things, after all, as was the case with love.

He looked away as their father embraced Severin, muttering trivial little comforts that might as well have been comments about the weather; if Severin was vulnerable enough to let Lonriad touch him, then he probably would have wanted the privacy, if only so no one could remind him of the hug afterwards. How did he do it? The more Severin pulled away, the more their father longed for him--meanwhile, Rudolphus had been there all along, but had never been enough. Lonriad loved Severin more... Alina had loved Severin more...

How was it that a half-pagan bastard had it all? A father who agonized over his approval, and a beautiful, loving wife. The dark, brooding good looks... the tall stature... the ability to actually grow facial hair...

Seeing Severin step back into his peripheral vision, Rudolphus turned back to his father--not that Lonriad was looking at him. "Severin, I'm so sorry."

Severin briefly looked away before muttering his reply; he seemed disappointed when the right words didn't appear in front of his eyes. "Father..."

"Look, if you need some time away from home," Lonriad offered, his hand outstretched as only Severin could make it, "you and the children are more than welcome to come back to Luperia with us."

Well, they certainly hadn't talked that over; to Rudolphus's relief, however, Severin shook his head. "The people need me here."

"You're distracted, though," their father pointed out. "It would be better for everyone if you took a little time to just clear your head."

"I don't know. Some people would probably rather I stay put."

He'd been looking at Rudolphus when he'd said it, the look in those brown eyes spelling out all he needed to know.

Rudolphus did not hate Severin. He was jealous of him, and perhaps a little resentful as well, he could admit it--but he did not hate his brother. Even if their father did love Severin more, he was still the tiny little baby who used to lie on the floor while Rudolphus dangled toys in front of his eyes. Even if Alina had chosen him, he was still the four-year-old who would crawl into Rudolphus's bed whenever he'd woken from a nightmare. Even if he was tall, dark, and handsome, he was still his brother--and after all this time, it finally occurred to Rudolphus just what that meant.

He'd always loved Severin, and he'd loved Alina--he had not been wrong about that. His mistake had been in incorrectly guessing whom he loved more.

"Severin?" His brother stepped around and met him with a frown. Perhaps he hadn't been expecting to hear anything from Rudolphus; perhaps he'd thought he'd hear something cruel. Rudolphus himself didn't know what to say in the first place. He simply pulled his brother into a tight hug for the first time in a quarter-century and began to gently rub his back, just as he had when they were small children.

"I'm sorry for your loss. Nobody could have loved her like you do."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Octavius Finds Nothing Profound

October 16, 1163

"She was a good woman."

"That she was."

"Oswald must be a wreck."

"That he is. He loved her so."

It shamed Octavius that he had no better response than a nod. He could not claim to have known his sister-in-law well--Athalia and Medea, after all, had never been close--but she was someone he would have liked to have furthered his acquaintance with. They had exchanged the occasional letter, both before and after Medea's passing, and of course they had spoken whenever they met, but there had always been this unspoken awkwardness between them, this painful awareness that the only thing that connected them was his wife, her sister.

He had thought that they might have become friends following his marriage to Holladrin. Perhaps they had, so well as people could become friends through mere correspondence. Athalia had been Holladrin's best friend, and that, he figured, might have eased their stiff formalities, even if it would never dispel the shadows that loomed between them.

Ah, but it was selfish to waste such thoughts on himself; it was Athalia's husband and children who deserved his sympathy, and of course, Holladrin herself.

"I shall write him a letter," he told Rudolphus with a sigh. "Would you mind delivering it yourself? Or if that would be too much trouble, I could always send a messenger."

Rudolphus nodded, unsmiling as ever--not that Octavius blamed him in this instance. "It wouldn't be a problem. I'm spending the night at my brother's castle; have your steward bring me the letter tomorrow morning."

"All right."

The other man sighed, his blue eyes somber and quiet, his lips tight and grim, as though he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep and never wake. "Good luck breaking the news to Holladrin when she wakes from her nap. I would do it myself, but I've never been good at the whole sympathy thing, and I imagine she would rather hear it from you in any case."

How was it that each spoken word contributed to the silence of the room? "I will tell her."

"It's always the good ones, isn't it?" mused Rudolphus mournfully. "Those who deserve nothing but pure happiness meet such early ends, while the most horrible of us all reach a creaking old age."

Octavius took a moment to consider this. The study blurred, faces of loved ones dancing in front of his face: Holladrin, his children, his friends, brothers, nephews and nieces... finally, the swirling forms and colors settled back to the gloom of the office, Rudolphus staring at him expectantly. Perhaps the other man thought he might say something profound. In truth, he could not; there was nothing profound in any of this.

"I should hope that you are wrong," he muttered at last. "I would not wish to linger on while all those I love die before my eyes."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Severin Escapes Twice

March 14, 1162

As little as a year ago, Severin would not have been able to imagine any situation in which he would have willingly journeyed throughout far-off Dovia all alone for weeks on end, but news of a princess's upcoming wedding was not of the sort to be delivered by a messenger, or so Roderick had felt. At first, Roderick had asked Octavius, but this was rather out of the question seeing as it was Octavius's wedding as well. He had then asked Dalston, but he had refused on account of some stupid excuse that Severin was sure was only a cover for not wanting to leave Celina's side.

Roderick hadn't asked Severin, however; Severin had volunteered.

While they still got along just as they always had during the day, there had definitely been a marked change in the nighttime aspects of his relationship with Alina. Many nights, he would go to their bedchamber to find her already in her nightgown, curled up under the covers, sound asleep--or, perhaps on some nights, pretending to be fast asleep. He didn't quite understand; was this whole coitus interruptus business really so unbearable? It took some getting used to, but it was better than nothing, was it not?

Regardless, the lack of sex was taking its toll and he had found himself growing more and more irritable of late, and after one particularly nasty episode with Roderick's steward, Severin had felt that it was time to take drastic measures. While he was reluctant to leave his princess and their children, perhaps he was giving her the space she needed--and perhaps he would return to find her fires rekindled.

God, how long had it been? A few months, at least--whatever the count, he hadn't experienced so long a drought since before he had ever experienced fornication itself.

Frustrated, he hastily shifted his mind to other matters. He was now at his father's castle, though his father and older brother had both been out all day. He had arrived in the late evening and passed the news of Holladrin's approaching marriage to Viridis, then proceeded to have a pleasant, yet mildly awkward visit with her and his twin siblings--his four-year-old twin siblings. He had a son who was four years old--hell, he had a son who was five years old, and a daughter who was six. While they seemed to be fine children, he had difficulty believing that he--he who would be turning thirty near the end of the year, for God's sake--shared a parent with a pair who were scarcely more than babies. Likewise, he harbored such feelings also toward his mother's daughter... but in the end, he could not bring himself to mention this to anyone. It wasn't as if it could be the children's faults.

Speaking of children, he had been disappointed with Viridis's unwillingness to divulge any information about the wedding of her niece Riona and young Lord Felonis back in February. Their betrothal, of course, had been common knowledge among the nobility for years, but even with Primus's passing, no one had expected the pair to be wed so soon, nor so hastily and privately. It also seemed that Riona's twin brother Searle was to be knighted and married as soon as May--at all of fifteen. After Lileina's marriage at thirteen, Haldred had established himself as a man who was hasty to marry off his children, but after that wedding, Severin--and likely everyone else--had braced himself for similar affairs to that particular event, none of this sneaking about at the chapels with only the immediate family present. The whole ordeal, Severin found, seemed somewhat suspicious.

"What are you doing here?"

He pulled himself upwards and cast a sidelong glance over his shoulder to see his brother, Rudolphus, standing in the doorway, a small girl in his arms.

"Is Father with you?" Severin inquired in undertone, straining slightly to peer around his brother and down the corridor.

"Hasn't been all day," answered Rudolphus blandly, stepping further into the room. "I was out hunting with Ovrean and Tarien; Father claimed he was riding out to the tithe barns, but I'm sure he found a brothel on the way and another on the way back. But you didn't answer my question, brat--why are you here?"

Severin closed his eyes. "I came to deliver a message."

"Then deliver it," his brother urged him.

"I already told your mother."

"So? She's in bed already, so she wouldn't be able to tell me until morning--and now you've piqued my curiosity."

"Fair enough," Severin relented, rising from the couch. "Holladrin is getting married next month."

His brother frowned--Severin suspected that Rudolphus himself would have rather married Holladrin than Eudocia, and in the end, he didn't particularly blame him. "To whom?"

"Octavius."

Rudolphus snorted. "The eighth son of a lord? For a princess?"

"He's a baron in Naroni," muttered Severin, rolling his eyes.

"A baron in Naroni," repeated Rudolphus snidely. "Sounds to be the equivalent of a gentleman here... mind, he does outrank you, your lordship."

"God, you sound just like my sister-in-law," groaned Severin, shuddering at the thought of Laralita. "Anyway... I thought your daughter was three; this little girl looks quite a bit younger."

As he lowered the child to the ground, Rudolphus chuckled slightly. "My daughter is three--and unlike this little one, she actually sleeps through the night. No... this is the next you."

Severin raised an eyebrow. "You mean...?"

"Indeed. Duke Lonriad of Luperia--always taking in a bastard for his wife to coddle even more than she does her true children. I'd thought that perhaps Sidwein and Taimyra would have been spared my fate, but I suppose that was too much to hope for."

Rocking slightly in his discomfort, Severin was quick to change the subject. "Does the fact that Father is still turning them out inspire you to maybe start working on a few more of your own? The steward has been telling people that you're having some... difficulties."

Rudolphus chuckled as he returned to eye level. "Difficulties my ass--he's just jealous because half his children look like me."

"Well, I hate to sound like some stuck-up old status-seeker, but you're going to need to produce an heir, at the very least," Severin reminded him.

"As soon as we have enough wine in the cellar to make me consider sleeping with my wife, I will get straight to that. God, if only she looked more like her sister--she was here, you know, for quite some time, and I made sure to get my helping, even if Father took the lion's share."

Well, that was certainly shocking.

"Geneva?" Severin demanded in outrage; Celina had told him that she was still alive, but he would have hoped she'd had the sense to stay away from Roderick's relatives. "When was this?"

"Sporadically throughout last year, and a little while before," replied his brother, nodding toward the little girl on the floor. "Where do you think she came from?"

"Well, I've come to expect that sort of thing from him," he sneered, "but you? You and Roderick were always so close--how could you do that to him?"

Rudolphus shrugged. "As far as Roderick is concerned, Laralita is the only wife he has presently."

"Yes, but you know otherwise."

"Well, a man's got to have his fun, doesn't he?" demanded Rudolphus, placing his hands firmly on his hips. "Perhaps if you hadn't stolen my intended and left me for the most unsightly bitch in the kingdom, I wouldn't be looking for love outside my own bed."

"Don't try to blame your behavior on me!" Severin hissed, reducing to gnawing on the lining of his cheek to keep himself from shouting and waking the household.

"Why not? It isn't as if you're any better!"

He had certainly not expected to hear that.

"Excuse me?" he choked, caught completely off-guard.

"Oh, don't think for a second that anyone believes you went to your wedding bed a virgin," chided Rudolphus. "Frankly, I'm shocked to find that you thought I wasn't aware of your... youthful misadventures, shall we say? We older brothers have our ways, you know. You were long gone before they even sent you off to that monastery--and even there, I know you got to know some of the female servants in the biblical sense, correct? I wager you were the only man there who knew their sins before they confessed."

Severin sighed. "That was a long time ago. I was young, and--"

Rudolphus let out a soft laugh. "Oh, relax, Severin--I'm not judging you. I'm just saying that if you weren't married to the love of your life, you wouldn't have any right to berate me for not staying faithful to my own wife."

"Rudolphus..."

"I just don't want you thinking you're any different," his brother continued despite his protest. "It's in our blood, brother. Deep down, I know you're just like me; just like Fa--"

"I am not like you!" he snapped at last; this was the one thing he would not tolerate hearing. "I'm not like you, and I'm certainly not like him!"

Rudolphus sniffed impatiently. "Severin..."

"I'm not, and don't forget it for a moment!" he pressed once more.

"You're in denial," his brother declared.

"Shut up! There's nothing to deny!"

Rudolphus snorted. "Oh, I'm so sure about--"

"What the hell's going on in here?"

Startled, Severin turned around to see his father standing in the doorway, looking rather worse for the wear.

"Severin?" the older man addressed him. "This certainly is a surprise."

"Apparently Holladrin's marrying Octavius," muttered Rudolphus under his breath--Lonriad, however, paid him no heed.

"Everything all right back in Naroni, son?" he asked, concerned. "Anything I should know?"

Trying to calm himself somewhat, Severin strode away from Rudolphus and his new sister, toward his father. "Actually... I was just leaving."

Almost immediately, his father's face fell. "Oh, but you'll at least stay the night? It's rather chilly out there, you realize."

Severin shrugged. "I'll survive."

"But it's well past midnight," Lonriad protested. "Surely--"

As he crossed paths with his father, Severin looked him in the eye and nodded. "I know--surely I'll have to make up for a few lost hours."

And with that, he brushed past Lonriad and made his escape from the room.

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Severin's Paradise Is Lost

February 16, 1158

Severin was not ordinarily a man to put much faith in supposed extra senses, but for some reason, he could not shake the nagging little feeling that something was going to happen, and soon--something disastrous.

He didn't even know where it had come from. His day had been pleasant enough, if not rather busy; he'd been surveying the progress of some of his villages, and had found that they were growing quite nicely. Not a single tenant had given him any impression other than a favorable one, and even Roderick had seemed to be in a relatively pleasant mood when he'd stopped by the castle briefly. Hell, even the weather had smiled upon him today--and yet, he couldn't help but sense that his good fortune was about to forsake him.

The courtyard was quiet--too quiet. It was sunset, but he might have expected to see at least some activity as he made his way up the castle steps and into his home. Where were the guards? The grooms? Not all of them lived in the castle, of course, but usually there were a few of the ones who did still walking around outside at this hour. Where was everyone?

Sighing, Severin trudged up the stairs and stepped into the castle's front room, where he was greeted by a smiling Falidor.

"Ah, my lord!" the steward exclaimed, setting down his quill and beaming up at him--as starved for hours Falidor had been in the early stretch of his marriage, it seemed he was now often very eager to head home to see his little twins. Not that Severin blamed him; Lord knew he couldn't get his fill of his own children, and he would've been quite reluctant to leave them with a woman such as Ailede all day. "I trust everything went well?"

Severin nodded. "Perfectly, thank you. Is Alina all right?"

A quizzical look appeared on Falidor's face. "Yes..."

"My babies?"

"Yes..."

"Good," he breathed in relief. "Now, would you mind telling me where all the workers are?"

"The king announced the death of the queen today, my lord. They were so shocked that I had no choice but to give them the day's leave."

That certainly explained Roderick's good spirits--as far as he was concerned, all this Geneva business was over.

"Fair enough, I suppose," Severin muttered. "Although if we're ever at risk of being under siege, I trust you'll keep the guards on hand, at the very least?"

Falidor nodded. "Of course. Is something troubling you, my lord?"

He shook his head. "Nothing in particular, Falidor. I just have a bad feeling about something, and I'm not sure why."

The young steward frowned, his eyes widening slightly. "Oh. Well, in that case, my lord, it's probably a bad time to inform you that your father and brother have come for a visit."

That explained a lot.

"I'm sorry, sir," continued Falidor uneasily. "I told him you probably wouldn't want to see him, but then he said that he was a duke and you were only a lord, so..."

"It's fine," Severin attempted to assure the boy, though he suspected he sounded anything but assuring. "I just... wasn't expecting this. I trust they accompanied King Farilon?"

Falidor closed his eyes. "I think so. Again, I'm sorry about this."

"Don't trouble yourself, Falidor," he insisted as he opened the door and started to make his way into the next room. "Now, feel free to go home to your babies whenever you please."

"Thank you, my lord," the steward acknowledged him.

Sending the young man one last quick, half-hearted grin, Severin closed the door behind him and surveyed the room. The baby, he supposed, was asleep in the nursery. On one couch sat Alina, her pregnancy just beginning to show, while their nephew Searle jumped on the other. Raia sat on the rug, playing with Noah's ark, while--much to his great dismay--Lonriad and Rudolphus stood by the fireplace, living proof of their own presence, Jadin in Lonriad's arms.

"Papa!" Raia announced him, dropping her toys and toddling toward him as fast as her two-year-old legs would carry her. He was rather relieved that it had been his young daughter who had noticed him first; he would now have an excuse to greet her before his father, and perhaps she could give him the strength he lacked to face Lonriad.

"Hello, angel," he addressed her with a grin, picking her up and bouncing her slightly as he often did. "Good Lord, you're getting big. It won't be long before I won't be able to hold you anymore, so I'd better take advantage now."

Raia frowned, tilting her head slightly. "Why?"

"Because Papa's getting old, and his joints won't be the same in a few years," Severin told her, prompting a giggle.

"You're not old, Papa," she laughed stubbornly. "Grandpapa's old."

Ah; as if the mere sight of Lonriad wasn't enough of a reminder that he was actually here. And he had met Severin's children; true, it had probably been inevitable, but he'd been hoping that it would be at least a couple of years. Now that his babies had met their grandfather at their tender young age, he would have to become a part of their lives. Severin could just hear them--"When is Grandpapa coming?"--"Will Grandpapa bring me presents?"--"Grandpapa lets me eat cake whenever I want"--

"Papa, can I jump on the couch with Searle?" asked Raia suddenly, her eyes wide in fascination as she watched her older cousin bounce back and forth between cushions. "Please?"

Severin spied Searle out of the corner of his eye--the boy was jumping a little too sporadically for his liking. "I don't know, sweetheart. By the looks of it, he might jump on you. How about you jump on the couch after Searle's done?"

"Severin!" scolded Alina. "Don't encourage her!"

Lonriad chuckled to himself as he stared fondly at his young grandson. "Oh, you're one to talk, Alina--if I recall, you were once an avid couch-jumper yourself. Ruined some of Viridis's most expensive furniture, you did, you and Severin both. By the way you two keep multiplying like bunnies, and the way the desire to bounce on cushions runs in the family... mark my words, you'll have a new couch every month."

So Lonriad had spoken; now, Severin would have to acknowledge him.

Alina gave a small smile. "Oh, Lonriad, I'm sure you're just jealous because you've had the same couch for a decade, and it will probably last a decade more."

"Oh, we'll see about that," he wagered with a wink. "I've got two new little bouncing babies of my own now, so the poor couch may not have as many years left as we thought it might."

Once again, she laughed; how did those two manage to get along? She knew how he felt about his father--and yet, she was still friends with him. Oh, but perhaps that was selfish thinking on his part. Who was he to say who could and could not be friends with whom? He needed some way to clear his head; being around his father never did provoke a rational thought in him.

Finally, Lonriad turned around and faced him. Their eyes met--for a few painful seconds, neither of them spoke. Then--

"Severin."

He nodded curtly. "Father."

"You seem to be doing well," Lonriad complimented him; he seemed sincere, but there was still that ever-present awkwardness between them.

"I am," he agreed. "I have three beautiful children, a fourth on the way, and a positively radiant wife. What more can I ask for?"

His father shrugged, bouncing Jadin slightly; the little boy giggled. "Admittedly, not much. Your shire seems to be prospering."

"Really, I have little to do with that," insisted Severin, lowering Raia to the floor and gently patting her on the head. "The people work very hard."

A small smile appeared on Lonriad's face. "That is because they wish to please their lord, son, and that is because he is a good one. You always did sell yourself short."

Severin didn't look back at his father as he started off toward the couch upon which Alina sat. "I suppose that is because no one ever expected much of me anyway."

"Severin..." warned Alina, trying to disguise her disapproval with a grin.

Severin shook his head. "Later," he told her.

Fortunately, Lonriad seemed too stunned by the comment to make note of their conversation. He set Jadin down, then--much to Severin's chagrin--joined the two of them on the couch.

As his father sat down beside him, Severin automatically leaned toward his wife, slinging one arm around her.

"You're being awfully rude, I hope you realize," she hissed at him in a whisper.

"Why didn't you send him away?" he demanded of her out of the corner of his mouth.

"Because he's my children's grandfather," answered Alina. "I know you don't like him, but can't you at least try to be civil? For their sake," she added, her blue eyes flickering between Raia and Jadin.

He sighed. "Princess, no one knows better than you--"

"Don't you 'princess' me," Alina snarled, suddenly elbowing him in the side.

"Hey!" gasped Severin; Alina had always had a strong elbow, he was suddenly reminded. "Please, Alina, just let me decide--"

"Oh, you can decide all right," she promised him. "Are you sleeping in one of the guest bedrooms? Or on the couch? It's your decision."

"What are you talking about?" asked Rudolphus out-of-the-blue; Severin had almost forgotten that he was in the room.

Severin bit his lip. "Uh... where's Searle?"

"I'm right here, Uncle Severin!" the page exclaimed--not for the first time, Severin regretted giving his younger son the same name as the boy's cousin. In fact, since the birth of Alina's, four of the five Sadiel sisters now had their own young Searle, named for their father; surely the other sister, as well as each of the elder Searle's sons, would name a son Searle as well. Perhaps it was just as well that Severin's family was rather isolated here in Naroni--if there was confusion here, then he could barely even imagine what it would be like dealing with the many Searles of Dovia.

"Oh no, not you," he laughed. "Baby Searle--Little Searle."

Searle seemed aglow; he liked it when people referred to Severin's Searle as "Little Searle", because then, by default, he himself was "Big Searle".

"Oh, he's asleep in the nursery," Lonriad answered as he watched Searle jump, an amused, perhaps envious smile on his face. "But don't worry about that, Severin; we already met him. Besides, we're here all week, so we'll have plenty of time to see him, right Rudolphus?"

His eyes glazed and his expression stony, Rudolphus nodded slowly. "Yes, Father. We'll certainly be getting our fill of Alina's babies," he confirmed, more than a hint of bitterness in his voice. "Severin's babies. Severin and Alina's babies."

Severin could only lock eyes with his wife and grimace. "Princess," he addressed her through gritted teeth, "this is going to be one long week..."

NEXT CHAPTER: