by Power, P. S.
“S'whos des?”
Tor explained who everyone was and asked if dad and mom were around. A few seconds later his father, wearing a buff colored heavy apron with more than a little flour on it walked out of the shop, clapping his son on the back heartily. He looked like a baker, but Tor just shrugged. If that wasn't impressive enough for his friends, then they shouldn't have come to a bakery, right?
“Dad,” Tor used his home accent naturally with his father, who wouldn't have understood him if he hadn't, most likely. “These are my friends and, well, this...” He took Trice's hand and smiled. “This is Patricia Alyson Morgan. She's agreed to marry me, if you and mom say it's alright. They're really good people, even if a trifle over tall. These are her parents... Can I, do you think?”
His father laughed and walked towards the Morgans, dwarfed by their great height but not overly intimidated for some reason. He held out his hand to Eric and shook with the man, patting his arm like they were old friends. Natural enough, he'd have done the same if Tor had come home with a girl from one village over and her parents. He also shook with Mercy who smiled at him and said hello.
In his thick dialect he explained that Tor's mother would be out in a few moments, since she had some berry pies to watch in the oven. It wouldn't do to let them burn after all. He offered them all a drink, the local hard cider or water, since they hadn't been expecting any guests and that's what they had chilled in the spring house, well that and some fruit juice for the kids. But you didn't offer juice to adults, he mentioned to Tor with a sideways glance and a small smirk. His da always teased him a little about not drinking and had for years.
Tor went with him to the small shack about a hundred yards from the back of the bakery, away from the house by twice that distance, where a natural spring burbled out of the ground.
“Tor! So... well, I guess we'll get the story of how you managed to rope the poor girl into marrying some Two Bends kid later, what is she? Merchant from the city?”
“No da, she's... actually she's what they call a “Ducherina”. That's the kid of a Duke or Duchess that won't inherit anything really. Her mom's a Baroness, but Trice won't get that title either. It's, really she shouldn't be marrying someone like me, but don't tell, alright? Obviously they know who I am and who we are, but I don't want to scare them off.” Tor grinned.
His dad grunted a little and got the jugs that were being held in the water, metal containers that while plain were tight and didn't leak into the spring at all. Tor took the hard cider, really no stronger than the wine the nobles drank day to day, so it shouldn't bother them too much and walked back towards where everyone waited, his father smiling a little.
“So, do you love the girl? Trees, you said her name was? Funny name, but it fits in here at least.”
“Trice, like Treez, yeah. That's not her full name, like I said earlier, Patricia. But to answer your question, yes. I really do, I mean enough for marrying, we're friends. I kind of have for a while now, but... that she's willing to be seen with me in public was more than I thought I should ask for, you know? That she's willing to actually do this...” He couldn't get himself to tell his dad that it was all make believe. Tor still didn't even know why Trice was willing to go along with him about it.
His dad patted him on the back.
“Well, love can make people do strange things. I got your mother after all...”
His father went inside to get some glasses, not wanting to try and crowd the giants into the tiny store front; they set up at the long outdoor table in the clearing behind the shop. It was just a bunch of split logs nailed with spikes to a sturdy frame. It had been there, with its two long benches made in a similar fashion, since before Tor had been born, he thought. It was big enough for the whole family, as long as they were cuddly about it.
A minute later his dad came back holding several glasses, the good ones for company that Tor had never seen them actually use, followed by his tiny mother, who also carried several glasses. She rounded the corner and smiled.
“S'torence ndeed! Goodn'see ya. Missing'yer we did.” She set the glasses down on the table and hugged him, tears forming in her eyes. Wiping them a bit, she looked at the people sitting around the table and stiffened, her face going blank.
This, Tor knew, might be a problem.
She'd always taught all of the kids to be at least a little wary around nobles of any kind and now here he was bringing in a bunch of them, claiming one might want to marry him. It could be a hard sell, if she panicked.
She didn't.
Instead she turned to her husband and asked him if he'd bring out some butter and bread rolls, the fresh ones, for their guests. He nodded and went to do it, looking at her oddly.
Letting go of Torrence she took a deep breath and moved towards the table, her demeanor shifting, her face changing from what he'd grown up seeing, kind and a little care worn, to something that looked younger and a bit regal. She stood dressed in her brown homespun with a matron's kerchief on her head and a heavy apron over her light brown shirt that didn't even have buttons, just ties to hold it in place.
It took a second, but the smile fell from Mercy's face first, replaced by a look of shock. Duke Morgan looked at Tor's mom strangely for a few seconds, then he stood.
“Laurie?”
“Hello Eric. Mercy. How have you been?”
Tor looked at his mother as if she'd grown a second head. He hadn't known that she knew how to speak anything other than the regional dialect, but her accent was... good. Better than his when he tried to speak standard.
“Laurie!” The Baroness ran towards the smaller woman and swept her up into her arms, hugging her like a child.
“God, Laurie, we all thought you were dead!”
Chapter twelve
Rolph stood up and walked around the scene to get to where Tor stood and looked at him, baffled. “Not to make myself sound artificially brilliant or anything, but, whaaa...?”
Sara and Trice looked just as confused as Tor shrugged at them. He didn't have a clue what this was about either. His mother was named Laurali, but he'd never heard that changed to Laurie before. For that matter, the fact that all these people where hugging and crying seemed more than a little off-putting.
He'd expected to have to soothe his mother, or possibly argue that he wasn't too young to marry, or wouldn't be by the time the date was set, and assure her he planned to finish school, but this? Boom, blow to the side of the head. Didn't even see it coming at all. Had he missed something again that everyone was supposed to just know or figure out on their own?
They let this go on for some while, even after Douglas came back with the rolls, butter and some of the honey reserve. He looked at the scene and shrugged. “Thought so. I wasn't sure; I didn't really know them back in the day, part of why the Count arranged for me to marry your mother, instead of one of them. The Austran wouldn't think to look for her here, after all.” This came out smoothly and with an accent that, if it didn't sound like what was spoken in the Capital, would have at least passed at the school as being normal. Possibly even cultured.
“So, da, I was just wondering...” Tor let his voice go wry. No need to get all worked up until he at least knew the score here. Probably not even then. After all, acting like an angry jerk had never helped anyone that he had seen. Just look at Dorgal. His doing that had cost his relative a marriage already at least. “And I mean this with great respect and kindness, but... what the hell?”
Tor pointed at the scene with all the hugging and now kissing, some of it a little too amorous to be just “I missed you a little”.
His father looked at them all and then back to Tor, then he shrugged. “Watch your language. As to the rest, I'll let them explain, I think. Don't want to mess it up or anything. Here, have something to drink while we wait kids, this might take a while.”
Douglas started pouring cider into glasses, but Tor opted for apple juice instead, getting another smirk from his father. He started teasing To
r a little about not drinking again, but Rolph smiled and shook his head.
“Don't argue with what works, sir. He never has a headache in the morning from over indulging. I should probably follow his lead there more often myself. Just the one glass... Plus, some of the building stuff he's done lately, well, you should all be very proud of him I think. He invented the flying gear and made a magic river to save county Ford from a drought. He also saved the city of Galasia and some kids that fell down a well, which was pure heroism. That's how he broke his leg by the way. I don't want you to think we're beating him or something. Oh! He also got himself named a Squire. Don't tell him, but he was almost named a Knight for what he's done so far. They just didn't want him to get a swelled head or something I think. Technically he's what's called a “Knight Esquire” which means that if he can't manage to be named a full Knight by twenty-five, all the other Knights get to make fun of him.” He smiled and took a sip of cider. “Hey, this is good. Eric, you should really try some of this...”
The Duke swung around, Tor's mom held in his arms now, she was laughing at least. The giant man made no move to put her down as they all walked over towards the table to see what Rolph was talking about. Finally the small woman started batting at him and telling him to set her down.
He shook his head. “And have you disappear again? I think not.”
The man did relent after a few more seconds though and took a glass of cider, about a quarter full, from Rolph. He sipped carefully and nodded after a bit. “It's good. Hickory barrels?”
Douglas took a sip himself. “I think so. We trade for it with the Smiths, the mayor's family. They hold the large orchards to the north.”
Finally Tor moved in next to Trice and Sara, holding Trice's hand. He would have clung to Sara too, he told her, but he didn't want to confuse his parents right now. They all laughed nervously, not knowing what was going on. After three or four more minutes everyone sat down, at which point Tor took a slow sip of his juice, tart and cool still from the spring, and looked at his mother.
“Not to be all pushy or anything ma, but it seems like a story might be in order? Why don't we eat some of these rolls and listen while you let us in on things. Oh wait! First things first.” He stood and gestured with his right hand around the table.
“Rolph, my roommate from school, Sara Debri, my good friend, Count Toverland Thomson, also my friend, and Patricia Morgan... My fiancée, and obviously, you already know her parents. So... please explain before I start using poor language and da has to beat me in front of my friends...” He looked at his mother seriously and felt his heart pound so hard in his chest he thought it might burst. “If Trice is secretly my cousin or something, for gods' sake tell me now before we sleep together!” This, he knew, was horribly shocking language for Two Bends but he held his face still and voice calm enough, he thought.
He was serious, but the adults all laughed for some reason.
His mother came over and gave him a hug. “No worries there. She's not even related to you within three or four steps. More than enough genetic distance to prevent consanguinity. I have to say this is a surprise though. Well, I guess my story first, and then we can hit on how you managed to land a Ducherina given... everything.” Her voice seemed weird, not like he was used to, which was a little stressed and shrill, now that he thought about it, a fair thing, given she had eleven kids underfoot all the time. Right now it sounded younger than it had. She looked younger, about ten years. It wasn't something small, like just suddenly relaxing or something like that; her face had lost wrinkles that it held when she walked around the corner. The eyes did most of it, but the fine lines around the mouth had vanished too.
Her story wasn't that complex.
When she was at school, being tutored by her father and his staff, which wasn't that unusual, it was a school of sorts in truth, even back then, she'd fallen into and out of love half a dozen times in as many years. It was just the way things were there. There were twenty or so students at the time, so they actually had a chance to try out relationships with a few different people each. That's when she'd made her mistake.
One of the students was a lonely boy, a bit ostracized by the others because he was Austran, there as an exchange student. Glost Serge. Laurali took pity and had a brief, but intense, relationship with him. They'd even talked of marriage at one point. But then, as was common enough there, she broke things off with him in order to date some other boy. It shouldn't have been a big thing, except that Glost had been so lonely for so long that he couldn't bear to let go.
Tor could relate with that much. That feeling of being alone, of fearing that you always would be. In a way it sounded like it had been even worse for Glost. Tor at least had his friends.
“Finally... He tried to kill me. It didn't make sense, but those kinds of things never really do. Instead of moving on he froze in place and became obsessed. After that he left school, of course, since my father ran the place and life continued. A little over a year later he came back, with a team of... special assassins. They weren't successful, but it was a close thing, dad... stopped them, but Serge got away, so I had to go into hiding. First I moved to Pine Forks, and then here after dad arranged for me to marry Douglas. We opened a bakery and settled down. I suppose I could have come out of hiding years ago, even Glost wouldn't hold a grudge that long, but well, you know, it's not like I'm in any hurry...”
She tried to stop there, but Tor had enough pieces to put things together once he thought about it for about five seconds. It all just clicked into place, little pieces of the puzzle interlocking in his mind easily, giving him a big chunk of the picture.
“Right... So, you're not in any hurry... Because your father, Count Lairdgren, is an ancient and whatever makes him that way you have too. So, you're not really aging, just faking it, to live this life of... country splendor?” His tone wasn't teasing or sarcastic, in a lot of ways, as run down as it looked, this place really was splendid. the Capital may be impressive with its white walls and red roofed buildings, but here they had trees and animals. No singular mighty river, but about twenty streams and rivulets that meant most people here lived close to one.
For a second it looked like she'd been hit in the stomach when he said it. Tor's mom didn't ask him how he knew at least. She just took a deep breath and let it out slowly, looking her son straight in the eye.
“That's... pretty close to the idea. Yes. You do too, have the trait, obviously, and I think your little sister Tiera may as well. We're watching her for the signs, she might not, it can be hard to see at first, especially with girls. Now, we weren't planning on keeping you in the dark forever, we've just been telling each of the kids when they got old enough, eighteen so far. So your older brother Teral and sister Terlee both know, and have for a bit. It hasn't been an issue yet. None of you would inherit anything from your grandfather anyway, since he probably isn't going anywhere any time soon.”
Well, Tor thought. Interesting. It didn't change anything of course. He was still going to fake marry Trice, if she'd have him and was going to try and increase his family's fortune if they wanted it. An interesting story, but other than making the wedding a reunion of sorts, it really didn't matter much. Well, it mattered, of course, but it shouldn't force them to do anything differently than everyone had planned. His parents could even keep playing poor country baker family if they wanted.
His mom shrugged as they discussed the idea.
“At least until you kids are all grown, if we can now. It may not be possible. Being raised as nobles can ruin kids as often as not though, and we have too many to take the chance with. Then again, we may take a turn off in the Capital or something. All of the people there have gotten too used to nobles being tall I bet. About time they remembered the rest of us.” Her gaze met Rolph dead in the eye. Without asking she pointed with her whole hand and spoke clearly.
“Rolph? Not your actual name is it? I bet you're Richard and Connie's first, Alphonse? You look a lot like Ricky
did at your age, if with better hair. How is Connie anyway? I always liked her.”
Trice chuckled. “Oh fine, when she's not trying to get Tor into bed. I don't think she's managed it though...”
Everyone laughed at him again. Sigh. Well, at least this explained the combat rage thing, possibly at least. Well enough for now. It left him feeling uneasy, but then life had been doing that to him for a while now, so it wasn't a big deal. Even the idea that he was some kind of royal. Kind of a shock, but it really wasn't like the knowledge changed anything for him, did it?
They didn't, as he'd assured them, have any great inns or anything for sleeping in, so the Morgans had bought tents, three of them, so that no one would be put out of a bed. Luckily the things, packed in an extra case each, were huge. The tan canvas came with metal rods, pipes so they didn't weight as much, and made a structure that would be big enough to sleep eight normal people or three of the freakishly over large royals in each. The floors were even padded, so along with the temperature equalizing fields, they should be comfortable enough for the night.
Tor had to introduce each of the kids multiple times, but all the T-names proved too confusing for the new people, even Rolph who'd heard all the names for years off and on. It was different when you had a face to go with it. The only kid that got remembered was his younger brother Timon who'd decided in the last months to try and get everyone to call him Weasel. It wasn't sticking in the village much, but all the new people adopted it eagerly. Of course that meant that whenever anyone needed to find something or someone, Weasel was the one they called in for it. The poor boy spent most of the time running to get things for Sara and Patricia. He didn't seem to mind, finding Sara to be extremely pretty.
Weasel, apparently, liked blonds.
