Prince Henry Wynter was the Heir to the High Throne of the Heptarchy and prophesised to one day lead his people to unparalleled greatness. Twenty two years after he abandoned his destiny and his throne for the chance to be the person he felt he was meant to be, he finds that Fate has not yet finished with him. The events surrounding the proposed appointment of a new Heir to the High Throne have consequences that reach as far the remote farmstead refuge of the former prince and threaten to destroy the new life that she has built for herself.

---

 

Previously...

"It's a life stone," murmured Fairfax in almost reverential tones. "They glow bright green when fully charged and turn matt black when discharged." Looking up at Hal, a smile crept across his lips. "That sneaky bastard got a life stone from Synnove. Do you have any idea how precious these are? They are reserved explicitly for the High Family and the most senior priests and weavers."

Hal knelt down on the other side of Sir Thomas. "My father...maybe it would work on him too?" He reached out to grasp it only for Fairfax to close his hand firmly around Hal's wrist.

"Don't. We have no idea if it has healed him fully. He may need the entire charge."

"It's a risk I'm prepared to take if it would mean my father were to live again. Thomas breathes as we speak, so it probably won't kill him if I removed it. Let go of my hand, yeoman."

Fairfax's expression set in anger as he locked eyes with Hal. "Make me, farm boy."

"Stop it now," said Thomas, his voice dry and hoarse but still strong.

"Take this," said Thomas pulling the life stone from his neck with great effort. "Daniel was like a brother to me. If this helps him at my expense, so be it. I have terribly wronged him and his family today. However, I fear it is too late for him. If his soul has crossed over he may not be recoverable."

In retaliation, Fairfax grasped the pulsating blue pebble hanging around Hal's neck and pulled the chord hard, freeing it.

"Fair exchange," said Fairfax, anger palpable in his voice. He leant down and tied the cords around Sir Thomas's neck, watching as colour flowed back into his pallid cheeks as soon as he placed the healing stone against him.

Hal's headache returned as the healing stone was secured around Sir Thomas's neck. Gritting his teeth he made his way over to his father's body and secured the life stone firmly around his neck. Taking a seat next to his father's body, he laced his fingers together in silent prayer to the á‰se.

 
 

CHAPTER FOUR

 

A farmstead cottage on the slopes of the Downs Mountain Range, Kingdom of Cantia

10 August EY 2451 (20 years ago)

Prince Henry Wynter lived a life governed by elaborate rules of etiquette and privilege. As the heir to the High Throne he was immersed in the courtly life at the Wynter Palace from before he was born and fed a steady diet of discipline, duty and respect. If he wanted for anything he had but to ask a courtier and it would be so done and the finest minds in the Heptarchy were available at his beck and call should he need their counsel. His every interaction was governed by conventions setting out in detail how he should respond to people based on their rank and station. Indeed, volumes had been written over the rules that governed such a simple act as greeting him in the Wynter Palace's presence chamber, the room where guests and assemblies were formally received.

As a member of the Yeomanry of the Household life was no different with a strict hierarchical command structure governing interaction between the ranks of the yeomanry. Whether on the battlefield or at a banquet or ball, for the young prince the privileges and duties of rank and station were inescapable. On top of this were the very specific expectations that the Angelcyn people had when it came to their High-Kings or High-Queens. Prince Henry, much to his displeasure, had been raised to be a warrior-king who when the time came would not shrink from driving his enemies from the field with the fluttering banner of the white dragon in one hand and the finest Angelcyn made steel in the other. This image was spoon-fed to him every day through every subject he studied and every activity he undertook. His philosophy teacher, Yeoman Major Martinson, had been very clear in his teachings that 'peace', 'negotiation' and 'compromise' were words used by the defeated or soon to be defeated party and Angelcyn kings had no need of such expressions when a single word summed up all they needed to offer their people. 'Victory'.

However, that had all ended on the day when Daniel had saved Prince Henry from his father's intended version of his future in favour of the future Henry had so desperately wanted and needed to live. As Georgina, runaway princess, the constraints of duty and expectation were cast aside in the name of living free. In this new world, the only obligations she had were those borne of choice, such as her decision to marry Daniel and trade her surname of Wynter for his of Amherst.

At times however, she feared her life at court had institutionalised her, making her too dependent on other people setting the rules of her world. In those moments, she would embrace her freedom to be frivolous, unpredictable and adventurous just to prove that she wasn't institutionalised. She knew Daniel viewed such moments with a mixture of horror and bemusement, depending on how successful she was in her latest endeavour. The one thing Georgina didn't do however was give up, for underneath the exterior of the newly married farmer's wife Georgina still couldn't completely shake her upbringing and the word 'defeat' was not a word in her vocabulary. Whether her opponent was a rebellious noble on the field of battle or stubbornly flat bread in her oven, Georgina embraced the challenge with the same determination.

The product of such reckless adventurousness had led her to the situation she found herself in at this moment. Daniel had been moaning about his hair, which after nearly two years was far beyond that permitted under yeomanry regulations but he stubbornly refused to risk journeying into the nearest village that had a barber. This had led to her latest impetuous pronouncement and her now being in the position of seriously considering expanding her lexicon by one word as she viewed the back of her husband's head. Trying desperately not to focus on the uneven lines cut into his hair, she hesitantly turned the unfamiliar hinged blades in her hand slowly from side to side as she sought to gain an appreciation for their balance, irritated at how clumsy she had felt in her first attempt at using them.

She knew most of the tension she felt wasn't due to her unfamiliarity with the blades of the scissors. Her martial upbringing had discovered a rare talent with any bladed weapon and even something new like scissors she knew she would eventually master. Rather, the problem was her inability to focus on the task at hand as another more significant matter weighed far heavier on her mind. However, she knew that until she worked out how to express it to Daniel, she would have to try and focus as best she could on his hair.

Closing her eyes briefly, Georgina let out a cleansing breath of air as her sword master, Sir Hugh Leyton, had taught her and she once more prepared to do battle. With her right hand she smoothly raised the scissors so that they hovered above Daniel's head like a sparrowhawk hunting for prey, while with her left hand the tips of Georgina's fingers danced lightly across Daniel's scalp teasing first one grouping of hair strands and then another before pausing over a particularly thick strand that seemed to take her fancy. Gently she plucked at the base of the hair with her index and middle fingers before sweeping down across a stubble covered cheek as she traced the wayward strand of dark brown hair, only stopping when she reached what she adjudged to be a centimetre or so from the end. Her face a mask of concentration, she tilted her head to each side to appraise the cutting point before slowly closing the blades of the scissors over the strand of hair with a crisp snip, the unwanted hair tumbled to the stone floor.

Satisfied with the cut, her fingers resumed their wandering across Daniel's scalp before settling on one of the spiky strands emanating from the crown of his head. Once she had the fullness of the strand trapped between her fingers, she first pushed it one way and then the other before she traced the hair to what she gauged to be the best cutting point. The sound of the scissors closing over its target was the only sound in the room other than Daniel's slow breathing and a gentle bubbling from a nearby cooking pot. Releasing the shorn strand, she gently swirled Daniel's crown of hair with her finger tips as she stroked his hair flat.

Taking a half step back to view her work, Georgina pressed her lips together in a pout as the strand of shortened hair rebelliously taunted her by standing proud despite being trimmed. In retaliation she snipped at the offending hair a second time, this time not using her fingers as guide to the cutting point. A brief pause and re-examination let to a third cut. And then a fourth. Gazing upon her work, she let out a low growl.

"Maybe..." said Daniel, pausing to clear his throat but not daring to move his head less he lose an ear to Georgina's scissors. "Maybe I should take the risk and go to the barber in Sarsen after all?"

"No!" said Georgina indignantly. "You chose not to remember. Besides, this is not going to beat me."

"Before or after you've cut a bald patch into my crown?" said Daniel, thankful that Georgina was behind him so that she couldn't see the grin on his face.

"OW!"

"That is for laughing at me."

"You're behind me, so how on Eorá°e would you know what I'm doing," said Daniel rubbing his ear. "Or even not doing," he added hastily.

"I am your wife. I know these things."

"Why is it in the fairytales Prince Charming gets the simpering happily domesticated princess while I get the unreasonably violent magical princess who can't cook," muttered Daniel under his breath.

"OW!"

"That is for muttering."

"Do you have to keep doing that?" grumbled Daniel rubbing his other ear.

"Awwwwww. I am sorry sweetie," said Georgina lightly kissing the top of Daniel's head. "But you did bring it on yourself by marrying me..."

Daniel let out a short laugh in response, letting some of the tension flow from his body. "Yeah. I should've seen the warning signs at our handfasting ceremony when you asked if there was enough rope to tie my other hand as well."

"Well, I could not have you getting away now could I?"

"Guess you're stuck with me then," said Daniel tilted his head so that the back of it rested against the top of the chair so that he could look up at his wife. Their lips touched tenderly as Georgina leaned forward and Daniel inhaled the faint strawberry smell that he had come to associate with his wife as her hair fell across his face. Slowly pulling back from the kiss, Georgina smiled shyly at Daniel before carefully easing his head back into an upright position.

Her fingers once more caressed his scalp seeking another strand of hair to trim and the couple slipped into a shared sense of silent contentment. When Daniel hesitantly broke the silence, his voice adopted a tone similar to that a rider might use when coaxing a skittish mare.

"Gina, I know we haven't seen any yeomen on the plains since the last harvest, but we still need to be careful."

Georgina felt Daniel jump in surprise as she hugged him in a tight embrace, resting her head on his shoulder. She could almost fancy she saw goosebumps rise on his skin as she kissed his neck.

Daniel reached up and touched her arm and the two lovers remained locked in a silent embrace.

"I love it here, Danny. Honestly I do. I am truly happy here. It is just sometimes...sometimes when you are out working on the farm I grow bored and miss the company of other people. All my life, there have been people around me. It is just taking time to get used to this. As long as I have you though, that's all that matters."

Daniel absently stroked his wife's arm as he digested her words.

"I'll tell you what, Gina. If we don't see any more yeomen between now and the harvest festival we'll go into Sarsen with the Paxton's to celebrate it this year. Deal?"

A little squeal of joy escaped from Georgina in response and she squeezed her husband with all her might before releasing him. Once she had calmed down, Georgina could not stop the smile pulling at the corner of her lips as she thought about how old man Martinson would have viewed her willingness to accept a compromise rather than pushing for her view to dominate. But then, she thought ruefully, he hadn't ever been married to the best of her knowledge, otherwise he would have known that marriage involved compromise, negotiation and peace if it was to work. She leaned forward to kiss Daniel on the cheek again, before repositioning his head to continue cutting his hair.

"I would ideally like to keep both my ears if you need a styling tip," said Daniel.

"Shush you. This is going to be perfect when I am finished. Now keep still."

Georgina switched her attention to the left side of Daniel's head focusing on the shorter strands at the top of his head first, slowly moving down towards his ear. Despite her best efforts however, her attention still kept drifting back to the spike of hair defying her will and she had to restrain herself from making a further cut at it.

"So what did you do while I was in the upper pasture this morning?" asked Daniel breaking the silence.

"Oh, the usual. Housework...tended to the hens... I am also thinking of getting you to clear space for a second vegetable patch near the stables, as the one we have is only just meeting our needs as it is at the moment."

"Sounds as boring as my morning herding the sheep," chuckled Daniel.

"Pretty much."

Georgina paused in her work for a moment, biting the corner of her lower lip as she contemplated whether this was the right time to try and express to Daniel the issue that was really troubling her. In the back of her mind she could hear Major Martinson urging her that hesitation was for the weak and that the victor seized the day.

"Mistress Matthews did drop by earlier."

"Matthews...She's the weaver from over in Little Broxbourne isn't she? I thought Master Morley covers this side of the mountains?"

"Yes, but he is not a trained physic, so she helps him in midwifery matters."

"Well then, her weaver gift clearly didn't grant her a sense of direction if she ended up here," chuckled Daniel. "You told her how to get back down to the plains? If she was out this way, I guess that Ambrose has got Jeanie pregnant again?"

Georgina had been rehearsing this moment all morning but found herself torn by conflicting emotions now the time had come. A feeling of light headedness overcame her and she closed her eyes to stop the room from visibly spinning. Subconsciously, her left hand lightly touched her lower abdomen. How long she stood like that she didn't know. The only clue that Georgina had to any time passing was when she felt Daniel's hand close around hers. The rough skin of his palms pressed against the back of her right hand as he gently freed the scissors from her grasp and placed them on the wooden table to which the chair he had been sitting on belonged. Georgina opened her eyes, her vision blurry with tears she hadn't been aware she was shedding and tackled him in a tight hug letting out the tension she felt in a tear filled bawl.

"Shhhh. It's okay 'Blanchefleur'. If the á‰se choose in their wisdom not to bless us with children, I don't care as long as I have you. Anyway, there is nothing to stop us being involved with the Paxton's children. Jeanie is often saying she wants you to call over more often."

Georgina desperately wanted to correct Daniel's misunderstanding as to why she was crying. However, she found that the diaphragm wracking sobs she was experiencing had reduced her capacity to speak to a fleeting window of time too short to do anything in but babble incoherently. Instead, Georgina held Daniel as tight as she could, letting her warm tears wash away the fear until the front of his tunic had become wet and sticky where her eyes and nose pressed against it. Daniel gently rubbed her back and whispered how much he loved her until she managed to get her tears under some semblance of control. Snuggled against her husband's broad chest seeking out a dry patch before speaking, her voice was nasally and hoarse from the crying.

"You know how hard it is to visit Ambrose and Jeanie. They are two hour's ride away as it is and both of us have duties to attend to on our farms. Besides, given I am the one who is pregnant, I think the least they could do is visit us."

"Pregnant?" whispered Daniel after a pause.

"Yes," said Georgina, as she listened to her husband's heart rate increase from her position resting against his chest. "Are you... pleased?".

"You're absolutely sure you're pregnant?"

"Honestly? No. It seems like something from a dream. However, Mistress Matthews was adamant. And there have been a few other...physical...things that made me suspicious enough to ask Jeanie to send her over when she next came to check up on Jeanie's youngest. But, you are pleased...right?"

In response, Daniel gently squeezed her before releasing her from his grip and cupping her face in his hands.

"Pleased? Of course I'm pleased!"

Daniel lent down and kissed Georgina with a kiss she felt was far too short for her liking. Looking up at him she saw that infectious grin of his dancing across his face. 'That's the look that got me pregnant in the first place' she thought with a sigh.

"I was saving that last good bottle of wine until our next wedding anniversary but I think we have cause to celebrate with it now, don't you?" said Daniel. "You get the glasses, I'll get the bottle from the cellar."

Georgina saw Daniel through the open door of the kitchen as he stopped to look at his reflection in the small hall mirror.

"Y'know...Actually, I think I might try growing my hair longer after all," he called back to her after examining her handiwork. In response she just laughed.

~o~O~o~
 

The Wynter Palace, Isle of Avalon

Tiw's Day 23 April EY 2471 - Late Afternoon (The Present)

The deep amber tinged light of the sun seeped through the French doors lining the west wall casting shadows across the sombrely dressed group of men and women sitting around the large rectangular oak table that dominated the room. The back of each heavy set chair was decorated with a simple red oval in which sat the passant white dragon of the Angelcyn, its stride halted by a raised clawed front leg. A mixture of servants and court bureaucrats flitted around the table, the cacophony of colours of their outfits contrasting against the uniformity of blacks, browns and whites of the seated.

A loud double rap at the great gilded oak double doors of the room silenced the gentle murmurs of whispered conversations amongst those present. As the great doors slowly swung open, the sound of a dozen chairs could be heard scraping against the tiles as each of the seated rose to their feet.

"My Lords and Ladies of the Privy Council, be upstanding for His Most Royal Majesty High-King Henry II, King of the Angelcyn, Ruler of the Heptarchy, Duke of Gallia Aquitania and Lord of the Isle of Avalon."

The silence of the chamber was disturbed by the sound of a small falconry bell jingling as the High-King entered, striding across the room towards an empty wooden chair at the head of the table that was only distinguished from the others by its higher back. The High-King still clad in the muted browns and greens of his hunting clothes contrasted with the two colourfully clad figures walking a respectful distance behind him, figures that the falcon resting on his gloved left hand strained to keep watch upon.

"Apologies for the delay, my most loyal Privy Councillors. Regretfully, affairs of state prevented my exercising 'Winged Victory' this morning as I would normally," said King Henry with a broad smile.

As the High-King neared his chair, he flicked his wrist sending the falcon on his glove soaring into the air to circle the room. Once the High-King was seated by waiting servants, the grey haired Chamberlin of the Household responded to an almost imperceptible nod of the High-King's head with the level of understanding only gained through years of service. Clapping his hands he signalled to the servants and staff to leave the chamber before finally assuming his position a discreet distance behind the High-King's chair.

The King reached for an ornate gold ewer and poured the wine within it into a crystal goblet in front of him. Taking a long drink from the goblet, he signalled to the standing Privy Councillors at the table for them to be seated as he himself slouched down against the velvet covered padding of his chair.

"My Lords, as Lord President of the Privy Council, I declare the Council to be in session. Getting down to business, may I ask the Lord High Constable if he has anything new to add concerning the activities of the Queen's Yeomanry?"

The assembled council turned as one to look at the Lord High Constable, who shuffled a few parchments in front of him seeking the document he needed. Taking a sip from his own goblet of wine, he spoke with a clarity and projection of voice associated with decades of issuing orders over the din of the battlefield.

"My King, as per the last report I received this morning I can advise that the Queen's Yeomanry continue to search with little avail, if we are to assume they are searching for the Heir. I have two regiments of the King's Yeomanry arriving at the borders of Cantia within the next two days and the frigate's Valiant and Indomitable entered the Kingdom of Cantia's territorial boundaries late yesterday. Should the Queen's Yeomanry find the Heir not only will we know about it but you will have a range of options at your disposal."

"Is there any sign that Cantia's forces are mobilising in response?"

"None. Cantia's Militia remains in its barracks and the irregular Fyrd have not been called to arms. They appear to be unaware of our forces activity."

"Thank you Lord Sommers. I'm sure that Lord Cavanaugh appreciates the brevity of your updates as much as I do. It gives him less to remember when he reports them back to the Queen, eh?" said the King, a sly smile crossing his face.

The quiet chuckle that rippled around the table competed with the spluttering protestations from Lord Cavanaugh, his crimson face a similar shade to that of his thinning red hair. Holding his hand up to still the noise, the King winked at Lord Cavanaugh before continuing.

"I tease you in jest, my Lord High Steward. Your loyalty is never in question. It's just too much of a temptation to get a rise out of you. Moving onto other business, Earl Marshal how goes the preparations for the anniversary of my ascension to the throne?"

Like many of the men and women assembled at the table, the young Lady Alice de Clare owed her position to King Henry's patronage. As a junior advocate at the Court of Chivalry, she had worked under Lord Edmondson, Earl of Meonwara and the previous Earl Marshal, building a reputation for fairness and efficiency. His tragic and unexpected death two months previously had led to her surprise appointment as the new Earl Marshal, despite her lack of seniority or title. She knew to her sorrow that many at the High Court attributed her rapid rise to her delicate yet pleasing features and ample bosom rather than her ferocious intellect and sense of fairness that her made her so successful at the Court of Chivalry. It was her sense of fairness however, that was now causing her problems as the King had made it very clear what he had expected from her and hinted darkly at the consequences of displeasing him.

Her added worry was that in pleasing the King she faced the prospect of displeasing a prince of the realm. She enjoyed the title of Countess of Meonwara and the associated lands that came with it and didn't wish to lose it all by upsetting the wrong member of the blood royal. Sitting at the table she desperately sought to avoid the unwavering stares from the two colourfully clad figures sitting either side of the King as she spoke.

"M-m-my King. The preparations are on course to celebrate the anniversary of your coronation on W-w-woden's Day the 15th of May."

"And the other matter?"

"My King?"

"The matter of Duke Richard's genealogy?"

"I-I-I have confirmed his genealogy, and by extension that of his mother Princess Alys, to be related to your ancestor High-King William II who reigned EY2043 to 2127, making them both descendants of the Blood Royal. In addition, as per your oath witnessed by a Priest of the á‰se and the Lord High Weaver, I can confirm Duke Richard to be your son making him a p-p-prince of the Blood Royal."

Pausing to take a drink from the goblet in front of her to steady her nerves under the cold stare of Prince Geoffrey sitting to the King's immediate right, the Lady Alice spat the contents out in shock as Lord Sommers thumped the table, causing a ringing of crystal to reverberate around the room.

"All hail Prince Richard! All hail Prince Richard!" cried Lord Sommers, the refrain being taken up by other members of the Privy Council with varying degrees of enthusiasm until the King Henry waved them into silence.

The King let out a hearty laugh as he watched Lady Alice dabbing at her black and white robes with her napkin, trying to blot the wine stain from them. When he spoke his voice contained the good humour for which he was renowned and Lady Alice could almost see the spray of freckles across his cheeks joining up as his smile creased his face.

"Earl Marshal, I must apologise for the Lord High Constable. His enthusiasm sometimes makes him forget that we aren't young yeomen at the mess table on campaign anymore and that there are certain expectations for the behaviour of Privy Councillors."

"My apologies, Lady Alice," said a less than contrite Lord Sommers offering his own napkin to Lady Alice. "My enthusiasm for the High King and his family sometimes gets the better of me. Please continue with your report."

Glancing at her heavily stained robe with its formerly white front panel, Lady Alice let out a deep sigh before continuing.

"M-m-my King, in addition the Du...Prince Richard...lodged a formal petition with my office yesterday morning seeking his inclusion in the line of succession. If you were to grant his petition, which given he was conceived outside of wedlock you have the option to decline, it would make Prince Richard by virtue of his birth in EY2431 to be...second...in line to the High Throne behind the current Heir, Prince Henry, and ahead of Prince Geoffrey born in EY2432, the current presumptive in the line of succession in the absence of his older brother."

"I so grant the petition."

"Father! This is an outrage!" cried Prince Geoffrey pushing his seat back as he stood, his right hand grasping for the sword absent from his belt. Anything else that Geoffrey might have said was cut off by a stinging open handed slap from his father, which knocked him back into his seat.

"You may be my son but you will never be High King!" snarled King Henry, standing over the cowed figure, who was busy trying to shield himself with his hands. "You have the same weakness of spirit that afflicted my uncle, High-King Stephen, and I did not save this throne by force of arms to see these lands plunged back into the anarchy of those times. None of you, not your sisters or your younger brother John, have shown the mettle needed to be High-King of the Angelcyn. Only Henry and Matilda came even close and she is dead and he is lost to us."

Turning in disgust, King Henry threw his napkin at his son who was cautiously wiping a trail of blood from the corner of his mouth. As King Henry slumped back into his chair, he placed his head in his hands and whispered under his breath a comment only heard by those closest seated to him.

"A true Heir would have beaten me to the ground for slapping him."

An uncomfortable silence filled the room until the High-King once more looked up at the assembled council.

"Earl Marshal. How long would it take for you to complete the proceedings necessary to make Prince Richard the presumptive Heir in the absence of his half-brother Prince Henry?"

Her answer already prepared for such a question, Lady Alice took a deep breath and spoke with a confidence absent from her previous words. The way Prince Geoffrey had responded to his father's rebuke being all the assurance she needed as to which prince to back in the succession.

"I can make the necessary arrangements and notices to make it both an anniversary of your coronation and the investiture of a new presumptive Heir on 15 May should it so please you, My King."

"It does so please me."

"As you say, so will it be done," stated Lady Alice in the time-honoured traditional response to a royal instruction.

"I have a further royal edict to make. From this day forward, I strip Prince Geoffrey of his seat on the Privy Council and instead, I award it to Prince Richard. Furthermore, unless the Earl Marshal wishes to exercise her constitutional right otherwise, I shall as of Woden's Day 15 May EY2471 anoint Prince Richard as not just the presumptive Heir but the next High-King on my death. Do you have any objection Earl Marshal?"

"As the Privy Council is aware, the Earl Marshal has the final say on all matters to do with the line of succession and the coronation of a new High-King. On my appointment to the position I sought to familiarise myself with all the laws concerning succession and can confirm that subject to the issuing of a proclamation of your intent, My King, and giving Prince Henry or any of his legitimate issue time to come forth and stake their claim, you may do so."

"In which case, Earl Marshal, I would instruct that such a proclamation be issued immediately giving the Heir and any issue he may have until Woden's Day 15 May to come forth."

"As you say, so will it be done," said Lady Alice, nodding her assent to the King.

To the resounding shouts of 'Gods Save Prince Richard' the King poured himself a large goblet of wine all the while watching the murderous look that Prince Geoffrey was giving Prince Richard sat opposite him. He half hoped that Geoffrey would show the backbone necessary to challenge Richard and settle the dispute for the throne in an honourable way with steel in hand. Either way, he thought, for the security of the realm one of his two sons would need to be dead long before his own death came to avoid a struggle for the throne.

~o~O~o~
 

A farmstead cottage on the slopes of the Downs Mountain Range, Kingdom of Cantia

Tiw's Day 23 April EY 2471 - Early Evening

Hal sat on the edge of his parent's bed starring at the sealed leather pouch in his hand. He had known about this since he was a young boy but had never expected to be opening it on his own, always imagining that his brothers and sisters would be gathered around him when the time came. Breaking the wax seal on the back he unfolded the pouch to reveal two letters, each with a ring tied to it by a gold ribbon which he recognised as the same ribbons as those used by his mother in her hair braids. The largest and thickest of the letters had his father's handwriting on it, addressed to Hal by his full birth name of Henry Daniel Amherst. The smaller of the letters had a much simpler inscription written on it in his mother's ornate copper plate script. It simply said 'to my baby boy'.

Holding his mother's letter to his face, he inhaled the faint smell of strawberries that he associated with the presence of his mother. Placing her letter to one side for a moment on the bed spread, he picked up his father's letter examining the signet ring tied to it. It came as no surprise to him after the events of earlier that day to see the royal seal of the House of Amherst on it, the rearing stallion of Cantia. Pulling the ribbon apart, he opened the letter and moved closer to the cold pure white light being emitted from the illumination stone sat in the centre of a lantern.

~o~O~o~
 

Jack Fairfax opened the stable style kitchen door to enter the cottages kitchen, wiping the dirt from his hands with an old rag he'd found in the stables. Pulling a chair out at the oak table he sat down opposite Sir Thomas and accepted the steaming cup of tea offered to him, embracing it with his open palms to savour the warmth of cup and drive out the chill of the late spring evening from his bones. Both men sat in silence for a few minutes, each reflecting on the day before Fairfax finally spoke.

"I've removed the tack and saddles of the horses of the dead yeomen and let them go on the upper slopes of the mountain pasture. With luck they won't be discovered for a while yet and that should delay questions about why yeomanry branded horses are running wild."

"The bodies of Acker's men?"

"I've thrown them into the river on the far side of the mountain. It's deep and fast flowing and should carry the bodies a considerable distance from the cottage before they come to any settlements. That side is heavily wooded anyway, so settlements are quite sparse. I personally would have preferred to have buried or burnt them but I honoured your wish that they not be in anyway easily associated with this cottage."

Sir Thomas smiled sadly at Fairfax, leaning back into his chair as he spoke. "I have destroyed a happy family home today and fear that this place will never know peace again thanks to my actions. I hope that one day another family will again call this cottage home and in that event I don't want to leave them the gift of unmarked graves if I can avoid it."

"If I may be so bold. This was always going to happen, Sir Thomas. If it wasn't us it would have been someone. Do you genuinely believe the High-Queen or the High-King would ever stop searching for the Heir, who is after all prophesised to lead us all to glory? Don't even get me started on what we have found here. The mere existence of that farm boy is in breach of the Founding Documents. If I recall the exact wording, it states that 'no King of the Angelcyn shall serve two masters' and being the heir to two thrones - Cantia and the High Throne - he does just that. They should be in Avalon accounting for their actions before the Star Chamber."

Sir Thomas frowned, placing his cup down on the table and took a long hard look at Jack before speaking. "If you feel this way, why did you break your oath and side with me?"

Jack blushed a deep crimson before speaking, looking at every part of the kitchen but that occupied by Sir Thomas.

"My father is a cold bastard whose only concern was duty and honour. Children should neither be seen nor heard. The only time he ever smiled at me was when I was selected for the Academy as a yeoman cadet. The only time. Do you know what his parting words to me were?"

Jack adopted a gruff tone of voice as he spoke next. "Don't disgrace me boy."

Resuming his normal tone of voice, he finally made eye contact with Sir Thomas. "And then I met you, the mighty Queen's Champion, at the Academy. I was a lost 15 year old with the legacy of my father's military successes hanging over me like the Old World tale of the Sword of Damocles. No one cared about me, it was all about whose son I was. Only you treated me as a real person rather than a legacy. You praised me when I succeeded and encouraged me when I failed. You taught me how to be a man not just a yeoman. How could I ever properly repay the man who choose to act like a father over the man who was my father but just saw me as a future officer? I would follow you in battle against the legendary Grendel if you commanded me or even if you didn't. I would tweak the noses of dragons and tilt forevermore at windmills if it pleased you. I would break my oath and act contrary to my very nature..."

Jack abruptly got up and walked to the kitchen sink, looking but not seeing out at the twilight darkened clearing in front of the cottage, lost in thought. He jumped in surprise as he felt a hand on his shoulder a few moments later and half turned his head to see Sir Thomas standing behind him. Turning back to stare out into the clearing, the two men stood in silence in the darkening room, Sir Thomas's hand never moving from Jack's shoulder.

~o~O~o~
 

Hal carefully folded his father's letter and put it back on the open leather pouch. The letter was very much his father in style - practical and thoughtful. It set out details of his father and mothers past, the present his parents found themselves in shortly after his birth and the contingency plans his father had made in case of discovery. Switching his attention to the ring that came with the letter, he pulled at the ribbon freeing it and placed it on his right ring finger.

"Goodbye Hal Stockbury, Hello Henry Daniel Amherst," he muttered under his breath as he examined the heavy gold signet ring on his hand. The ring much to his surprise had been a perfect fit, cementing the growing feeling that this was both his heritage and his future.

Hal gently tugged at the ribbon tied around his mothers envelope and couldn't help but smile as it slowly opened up like a blossoming flower to reveal the folded letter inside. The sight took him back to his childhood and the intricate origami shapes she had made to amuse her children. He remembered being a desperate six year old wanting to know how to make a hopping frog and the simple joy he and his mother shared when he successfully made his first one hop. Unfolding the letter, Hal couldn't help but admire her beautiful handwriting which he always felt made his angular lines look like the runes of the Norsemen in comparison to her flowing script. Unlike his father's letter, his mothers was short, only occupying a single side. Intensifying the brightness of the lantern, he began to read.

 

"My dear darling baby boy,

It seems so odd to write to you, the grown man, while you, the baby, are nursing at my breast in a sling even as I write this. I cannot help but wonder what sort of man you have become and what sort of mother I have been to you. A good one I hope. A better one than my own at the very least.

I find myself wondering as I look down at you whether you have younger brothers and sisters. Could I be so blessed to give your father the large family I know he wants? If this is the case, please tell them how much I love each and every one of them, for I cannot imagine this family as being anything other than filled with love and laughter.

You will know by now if you have read your father's letter that you are not Henry Stockbury but rather Lord Henry Amherst. That is the gift of your father's heritage to you and should secure your safety all the while you are among the Cantwara. My gift I fear is more of burden.

I was born 'His Royal Highness The Prince Henry George Wynter, Prince of the Angelcyn, Duke of Meonwara, Marquess of Lindsey, Earl of Wihtwara. The Wynter Lion.'

It seems like a life time ago.

This makes you a Prince of the Blood Royal and a descendant of the House of Wynter. This is also the burden I give to you, for it makes you a target for anyone coveting the High Throne for you are a threat to those with lesser claim and only I have a greater legitimate claim than you.

I know your father thinks it best you seek the protection of his parents, the King and Queen of Cantia, and there is merit in such a decision. However, I know my own parents and I give you this simple piece of advice.

Run.

Run for all you are worth and do not look back until you find yourself in either the Brythonic Islands to the west or across the Great Sea in the Septem Provincae. I was raised to be little more than an instrument of war. I do not want this life for you. Please heed my words for I could not bear for anything to happen to you. Live and be happy in peace.

I would ask one final thing of you, my angel. I would ask that you remember me as I truly am, your mother, and not as some prince you've never met.

I will love you always."

 

"I love you too, momma," whispered Hal as he traced his mother's signature with his finger. "Regardless of who you were born you are, and always shall be, my mother."

Picking up the ribbon with his mother's signet ring on it, he reached behind his neck with it and tied a strong knot in the ends before tucking it into his tunic. Now wasn't the time for this ring to be worn he felt in his heart for a reason he couldn't quite place. His parents had however left him other gifts he could use here and now he thought, as he walked over to the large dark wood chest that originally contained the leather pouch.

Inside, neatly folded was a faded velvet cloak of the finest material he had ever seen despite the rain spots that marked it. It had been upon this that the pouch had rested. However, under that was the real prizes, two swords of the finest workmanship he had ever encountered. Even the knights he had met in the sword contests at the festivals in Sarsen had nothing on these weapons.

The first was a blade fit for a King encased in a scabbard of snow white leather with ornate gold thread work woven into it. It's cruciform shape ending in a pommel containing the largest diamond he had ever seen. A light but elaborate basket hilt wove around one side of the cross guard protecting the base of the blade and enabling the sword to be held either in one hand or a hand-and-a-half configuration. The outline of a small white lion on the scabbard and the white, blue and gold ribbons tied around the pommel left Hal in no doubt that this was his mother's blade, the fabled 'Victory' for which no blade was said to be the equal of in the Heptarchy. Oddly, it felt lighter to the touch than a blade of its size should be. Yet it was the second blade that he found his eyes were drawn to, as if a voice was whispering in the back of his mind that the first blade was not for him.

The first thing about his father's sword that drew his eye was the elaborate swept hilt of a like unparalleled in Hals' experience. The metal twisted and flowed almost as if it was organic and even the slight chips in places that spoke of its use in combat couldn't detract from its beauty. The pommel at the end of the blade was inlaid with small red rubies to give a background against which a white silhouette of a rampant stallion could be clearly seen. In contrast to the first blade, the tan leather scabbard contained no ornamentation. Picking up the sword and its accompanying belt, Hal couldn't help marvel at how perfectly balanced and weighted it was. Releasing the clasp on his own sword belt, he dropped the sword that by the standard of festival competitions would be considered excellent, and in its place he secured his father's sword. Resting his hand on the pommel, Hal knew now what he needed to do.

~o~O~o~
 

"Did you find what you were looking for?" asked Sir Thomas as Hal entered the exercise hall that ran down one side of the 'u' shaped cottage building. He wondered if it was just the effect of the clean clothes he wore or something else that made Hal seem more at peace than he had earlier.

"Yes, thank you," said Hal, shuttering his lantern to deactivate the illumination stone within it as the hall was sufficiently lit by the glow of other lanterns hanging from the ceiling. "Has there been any change in my father's condition?"

Sir Thomas looked down at the body of his friend, laid out on a low trestle table, the dull red glow of the life stone visible on his chest.

"None. The life stone prevents the body from decaying and preserves it in a state somewhere between life and death but there appears to be no spark left of your father's soul to reanimate it. I'm sorry but we need to face the fact that Daniel isn't coming back to us."

Hal stopped on the opposite side of his father from Sir Thomas and rested an open palm against his father's chest, biting his lower lip as he gazed down at his father in a habit subconsciously picked up from his mother.

"Gods," whispered Sir Thomas gazing upon Hal. "It's unnerving how much you look like him. I mean her. No, I mean him. You look like Henry. I mean like your mother did...before..."

A smile broke out across Hal's face in response to the verbal knots Sir Thomas had tied himself in. "It's okay. It's not every day I find out my mother - your friend - is a legendary Prince of the Blood Royal. It's going to take me some time to get used to the concept of my mother as a warrior king and you some time to get used to the warrior king as my mother. I guess we'll just have to help each other get it right, won't we?"

Sir Thomas found Hal's infectious smile crossing to his own face. "You might look like Henr...your mother... used to but I get the feeling that there's a lot more of Daniel in you than first appearance would suggest."

"You may well be right. I've always had my father's practicality," said Hal with a quiet laugh.

The two men stood in silence, looking down at the body of Daniel both marvelling at the look of peace on his face as he laid as if in repose. After a few minutes, Hal finally broke the silence.

"I guess we haven't been formally introduced have we? I am, it seems, Prince Henry Daniel Amherst, Lord of Cantia and second-in-line to the Wynter Throne," said Hal extending his hand across the body of his father.

Sir Thomas bowed his head in acknowledgement of Hal's superior social status before grasping his hand at the wrist in a traditional yeoman's greeting.

"Sir Thomas Albany, for the moment Major and Queen's Champion in the Queen's Own Regiment of the Yeomanry of the Household. Soon to be a wanted criminal with a price on his head I fear."

"Call me Hal, Tom. If I may be so informal as to address you that way? I've decided what I intend to do next by the way if you are interested."

"Hoo-bloody-ray for you, farm boy" called out Jack from where his was learning against the doorframe of the entrance way to the hall watching the two men. "Maybe finally we can go. We've sat here in this cottage all afternoon. It's a miracle the place isn't swarming with yeomen."

"Lieutenant Fairfax, that will be enough! You will show respect for a member of the Blood Royal!"

"That's kind of the point though isn't it? As far as anyone is concerned we are both dead. I'm no longer a Lieutenant and neither are you a Major. Even in death we will be dishonoured because the moment Ackers returns to the regiment and reports our actions, our names will be read out amongst the ranks of the dishonoured in the Great Hall of the Wynter Palace. And if it ever becomes known that we are both alive, we will be dishonourably discharged with a price on our head. Just like farm boy over there will have his royal status, and probably his head, quashed the moment he shows up at the Wynter Palace. We need to bury the stiff and get out of here. Now."

Ignoring the scowl and rising anger on Sir Thomas's face, Jack turned to Hal and mockingly waving his hand before him as he mimed an elaborate bow. "Unless my Lord, you would wish otherwise?"

"Actually, Jack, you are almost right. We will get out of here. But not now. We will wait here until the morning to ensure that my brother and sisters have ample opportunity to return from wherever my mother no doubt sent them. We will then take 'the stiff' as you so eloquently referred to my father with us to Canterbury via a stop off at the barn in the lower pasture. And actually, thanks to the life stone, rigour mortis has yet to set in on my father. Once at Canterbury, I intend to see that my father is buried in one of the royal barrows in keeping with the customs of the Cantwara."

To the surprise of both men, Hal tugged at the white tabard he wore until he had pulled it over his head. A perplexed Jack glanced over at an equally confused Sir Thomas.

"Tell me Tom, did you always do what your mother asked of you?" said Hal.

"Err..no. Actually, I seem to remember quite often disobeying her. It was one of the reasons my family sent my application to the Academy rather than training me for my father's merchant business. They hoped it would instil discipline and a respect for orders in me. Uh...why do you ask?"

"Frankly, I can't remember a time when I ever disobeyed my mother. Until now. It's my intention to raise a force at Canterbury with which to free my mother and avenge my father rather than run and hide as she wished."

Hal stepped away from his father's body walking towards the door. As he pulled level with Jack, Hal thrust his tabard forcefully into Jack's hands.

"It's my understanding, Jack, that an oath broken yeoman can find redemption if a member of the High Family accepts his sword in service. Congratulations, Lieutenant Fairfax, you are now the first member of 'The Wynter Lionesses Own Regiment of the Yeomanry of the Household'. I'm sure my mother and I, as members of the High Family, will look favourably on your service and have your name removed from ranks of the dishonoured in the Great Hall if you serve us well."

Giving a speechless Jack his most smug smile, Hal glanced back at Sir Thomas. "There is of course an opening for the position of Princesses Champion and Major if you are interested, Sir Thomas?"

As he disappeared into the darkness of the hallway beyond the door, Hal heard the deep bass laughter of Sir Thomas.

 

To be continued...

~o~O~o~
 

Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to either comment or pm me in respect of the Wynter Lioness. It's been hugely appreciated. As was the kudo for the last chapter. :-D I would also like to thank Persephone for both inspiring this with her stories and pointing me in the direction of Sol Stein's great book on writing. I'm still digesting his points and hopefully the next chapter might benefit from them.

This chapter is about double the length of a normal chapter and is therefore my justification for it being four weeks rather than two weeks after the last chapter. ;-) I might go with the larger chunk chapters instead of smaller ones, so updates may now be monthly but we'll see how the chapters develop in keeping with the plot structure I sketched out at the start.

So, without further ado, I hope that you enjoy this chapter and please feel free to comment!

Updated: 20/12/10 as I noticed writing Chapter 6 a paragraph of dialogue boxed me in more than intended and needed to be rewritten. Apologies!