Sohna and Vivian - My Brother's Keeper

She'd never seen anyone so angry, she thought. Not that he had shouted or used any physical violence, but the look on his face and in his eyes had been worse than a blow. If he'd had any magical power and ability, she knew she'd have been dead - no, not simply dead, but eradicated. Unable to bear more than a split second of his ire, she'd dashed back inside and hidden herself in the nearest alcove. Wendell's castle had several of these - small, intimate areas not quite large enough to be called rooms (by the measuring stick of royalty, at least) closed off with curtains to keep out the winter chill, and with a single bow window. She sat now in a wingback chair, sobbing and twisting his mask - which she still held - in her hands.

She deserved his reaction to her revelation completely, she had no doubt of that. She'd had absolutely no business doing what she'd done: Chasing after him following that meal. After all, she'd known ahead of time that he was probably unsuitable for her, even if she hadn't already been betrothed to Gunther. The Riding Hoods, unlike the descendants of Cinderella, Snow White and Rapunzel, whose romantic tales of ‘happily ever after' were a part of their histories, married strictly for political expediency (although they were never required to pair with someone they found abhorrent). That was her heritage - pure practicality. Her grandmother may have wed the woodcutter who helped her slay that infamous wolf, but it had been a practical decision at the time. Nowhere in the story had a romance with the man ever been implied. She had led Rafe on. He had a right to be angry with her.

She reached up to wipe the tears from her eyes, and in doing so missed the movement of the golden velvet curtains to her left. When she saw him suddenly standing over her, she gasped, then cringed. Has he come to tell me off? she wondered.

But he said nothing. She realized then he must have come to retrieve his mask and wearily handed it up to him. Their hands touched as he took it and she jerked hers once again away, turning her head to look out the window though she saw nothing but a teary blur.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"So am I," he replied, his voice low and hoarse, nearly a growl. He cleared his throat, but remained where he was and did not leave.

She looked up curiously.

"I shouldn't have reacted the way I did," he explained. He sounded more like his old self then, she thought, though there was something of a brittle quality to his manner. She supposed it had to do with him knowing she was royalty while he was not.

"No, it was my fault," she told him. "I should have told you who I was from the start."

He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes.

"Not when you were in disguise, like everyone else," he said. "May I sit down?"

Surprised, she gestured for him to go ahead. Speaking with him had calmed her some, but it had also given her a bit of false hope. Fortunately, she thought, she was aware that it had, and she sternly told herself to stop it.

"Your Majesty ..." he began, but she immediately interrupted.

"No, no please," she said. "Please call me Claire. At least today."

The words had tumbled out before she could stop them. She realized only belatedly that it might have been better to have the formality to separate them. Nevertheless, it had been said. She couldn't take it back now.

"Claire," he said, her name in his voice catching at her heart as it had the first time he'd said it. "I am curious, so if you don't mind my asking, what is the queen of the Second Kingdom doing at the wedding of a half-wolf?"

She flushed. It was a perfectly natural question to ask, she knew, but she had no ready answer. The real reason she'd come seemed quite frivolous to her now, especially considering the naivete with which she'd made the decision. Nor was she sure he would understand the rivalry between the kingdoms if she told him how she resented Wendell's treatment of her. Her silence went on too long.

Finally, he said, "Odd that they felt a need for a costume affair after that pardon had been granted."

Her head snapped up, eyes wide and incredulous. Had he understood after all? she wondered. Could he somehow read her mind? The idea took her breath away.

"Yes," she breathed. "Exactly. I knew he meant it just as an insult to me. Wendell did, that is. That's why I came. Although ..."

"The wolfs didn't leave their little corkscrew tails hanging out," he said, his lips twitching.

"No," she agreed, then realized what he'd said. "Isn't that pigs with corkscrew tails?"

"Oh, yes!" he agreed, his eyes laughing now, and quite bright. "Sorry. I get them confused sometimes. I suppose it's their eating habits."

She laughed.

"To be honest, though," she said, "They managed to behave themselves at the banquet."

"Yes, I noticed that," he told her. "The groom might have been mistaken for a normal person if we hadn't known otherwise."

"Yes," she agreed. Although most of her attention had been devoted to Rafe, she'd observed that particular wolf for a short time, since he was the only one present she was certain was a wolf. And, she'd had to admit he was quite conversant with a knife and fork.

"Odd he didn't have his tail out, though," Rafe was saying, "Since everyone knew he was a wolf. Why hide it?"

"Probably he didn't want to frighten his bride," she said uncharitably. "Wouldn't do to have her run away screaming before he got her alone."

All the merriment in his manner vanished abruptly and he looked away, his posture tense, his jaw working. She remembered suddenly what he'd said before about having a wife or fiancé who had died.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have said anything about ..."

He shook his head, still trying to regain his composure. She stopped talking and bit her lip.

After a moment, he took a ragged breath and quietly said, "So were you still looking for some way to teach King Wendell a lesson in manners?"

"Yes, why?" she asked, surprised. "Do you know of a way?"

"Possibly," he said. "Before the banquet I ... well I wandered around quite a bit. And I happened to pass the room to where the wedding party had retired. I'm afraid I listened quite shamefully to their conversation, so I know at one point King Wendell asked if they intended to spend their honeymoon searching for some ruin in the Second Kingdom."

"Are you serious?"

"Quite," he assured her. "Although I didn't get the impression they would actually go there on their honeymoon, I'm sure they may try it shortly afterwards. And I have a feeling they'll try and do it without your knowledge. They were talking about retrieving some long-lost prophecy or something."

She raised her eyebrow. That Wendell might go behind her back to take something that rightfully belonged to her kingdom didn't surprise her at all.

"It would confound them no end if you were to find that prophecy first," he suggested, and explained what he'd heard about it: that it involved some verse scraps Wendell had found which referred to a ‘Basquel Queen.'

Claire frowned, disappointed.

"Then they're not even completely sure there's any prophecy to be found," she pointed out.

"They seemed quite anxious to look for it there," he insisted. "Remember, what I heard was only part of a conversation."

She thought for a moment.

"But how would we know what we were looking for?" she asked, realizing only when he leaned close that she had tacitly invited him to accompany her on the search.

"There aren't likely to be many prophecies lying about," he told her. "And I, at least, recognized the ruin they mentioned as a place I'd once seen."

He told her then where it was and she shivered. Of course it would be in the heart of the forest most thickly populated with wolfs, she thought.

"What were you doing there?" she asked, concerned that he would endanger himself to that extent.

"I travel around a lot," was the reply. "It's not dangerous, if you know when to travel. Of course it might be best if you didn't openly go as the queen."

How true.

"If you can manage without any entourage at all, that would be the safest," he suggested. "I'm quite adept at driving a team. A couple traveling in a coach would be perfectly safe."

Her first instinct was to balk; she'd never been without at least a maid before in her entire life. Upon reflection, however, she decided that what he'd said was true. A pack of wolfs would be far more likely to attack someone who was obviously of society than they would peasants, and peasants had no servants (though it never occurred to her that peasants would probably not own a carriage either). Nor would she have a problem with trying to keep a maid from becoming hysterical if a wolf appeared. And, she thought, it wasn't as if she would really need one - she was quite capable of dressing herself, using the maid's services mainly to care for delicate garments and arrange her hair for court presentation, neither of which would be required.

"We should arrange to leave as soon as possible," he said.

The immediacy of his suggestion struck a note of fear into her heart. Though she'd tried to overlook it, it hadn't really escaped her attention that he'd essentially described a scenario in which they'd be alone together for over a week. Yet he knew now who she was, she thought, so she'd be doing nothing wrong. It was a well known fact that a Riding Hood could never marry a commoner, as was her previously announced betrothal to Gunther. She wouldn't be leading Rafe on. Nor would she be slighting Gunther in the least - the marriage itself was the binding contract, not the engagement, and since no affections were involved on either side she was free to live her life more or less as she chose until the ceremony. Perhaps Rafe was as anxious to make use of the time they could have together as she was, she thought. He was sitting there, his back straight, staring so intently at her that, looking at him, she nearly, but not quite, forgot her other objection.

"It's full moon in a week," she reminded him. "How will we handle that?"

"It's not so much of a ruin that there aren't some enclosed areas left of it. We can lock ourselves in one of those," he told her, then added, "If we wait too long, they may arrive ahead of us."

Her eyes lit up. Did he mean what she thought he did, she wondered? Was his plan not only to find the prophecy, but also to save the life of the heroine Virginia?

"Yes," she agreed. "I hadn't thought of that, but a ruined castle would be just the place for some wolf's unknowing victim to have an ‘accident' befall her, wouldn't it?"

He smiled as if she'd read his mind, his teeth even and white.

"Exactly," he agreed.

Tony poured out the last of the bottle of champagne he'd taken up to his room. It was nearly midnight and he knew he ought to go to bed, but he was simply not at all sleepy, and the wine had not helped make him that way as he'd hoped it would. He took a sip and paced some more, stopping now and then to drum his fingers on a piece of handy furniture or run his fingers through his thinning hair. Now he was agitated about the wedding, he thought, and laughed silently to himself. He'd been a rock at the ceremony, escorting his terrified daughter down the aisle to Wolf. He could feel her shaking; felt also the slight hesitation in her steps as the crowd first turned to look at her. But he had guided her to her husband-to-be, let her go, and calmly taken his seat.

There had been no Master of Ceremony, no minister or other official to preside. The rites consisted of vows spoken aloud by the couple, composed by them for the occasion. Tony had held his breath, a little afraid that Virginia would forget her lines in a bout of stage fright, but she had spoken them unwaveringly, if not loudly, never taking her eyes from Wolf.

Then had come the banquet and reception, and he had been swept up in the celebration, eating, talking, and dancing with his daughter. She had looked radiant, he thought. More so then than in the conservatory, as if she had received something simply by being married that she had needed all her life in order to be whole. And though Tony begrudged the thought a tiny bit, he trusted Wolf to always love her.

It was only now, when everyone had finally retired and Tony had come back to his quarters alone that he felt her absence as a blow. He knew that was a little silly - she'd never shared these quarters with him anyway - but he couldn't help it. She was truly gone now, much more than she had been when she'd returned to New York and he'd chosen to stay here. She was gone to live her own life; a life that was patently not his. He felt a hollow ache in his throat, and promptly took another sip from his glass.

Without really meaning to, he suddenly remembered the first time he'd seen her, tiny and red, still wet with the amniotic fluid, wailing from the shock of birth. He'd been among the first generation of fathers permitted in the delivery room and he recalled how difficult it had suddenly become to breathe behind the surgeon's mask he was required to wear, overwhelmed with love for his new daughter and the immense responsibility of caring for one so helpless. But it had felt good to him then, that responsibility. It had not, he knew, felt good to Christine. She'd become severely depressed afterwards, and though the doctors had assured them both that postpartum depression was quite a common occurrence and nothing to worry about provided it was promptly treated, Tony could, in hindsight, trace all of Christine's odd behavior back to Virginia's birth.

But none of that had been noticeable on the day she was born. He remembered her reaching for the baby immediately, the smile on her tired face, and the sheer happiness of that ephemeral moment. At the time he'd thought that Christine had finally accepted her new role as a mother, which he knew he'd selfishly thrust upon her, and he'd stubbornly clung to that image through the next seven years, excusing when he couldn't ignore the neglect, the other men, and what he should have known was a drug habit. He'd kept his head in the sand well until that day she'd simply disappeared and he was forced to face what could have been such tragic consequences. And since then he'd always wondered if there might have been something he could have done differently to have prevented it. If he had paid more attention to her; acknowledged that a problem existed instead of inventing reasons why it did not, would she still be with him? After all these years he'd convinced himself that he no longer cared, but it had hurt when, the last time he had seen her alive, she'd told him, I don't know who you are. Yet he had never been able to firmly decide that any actions of his might have made a difference all those years ago except one: He might have agreed to let her have an abortion. Knowing what he knew now, however, even if he were magically transported back in time to live his life over again (which he was slightly afraid might be more possible than he'd ever thought), he could never change his mind about that. He loved Virginia too much. So much so that he would willingly make that decision without hesitation, even knowing what the consequences would be. Maybe that was the ultimate responsibility, he thought, letting them go when they're grown no matter how lonely it makes you. Might Christine have seen something of this at Virginia's birth?

"No," said a familiar voice behind him. "I'm afraid my refusal to accept responsibility was just that, as ashamed as I am to admit it."

He spun around, nearly choking on the champagne, unable to keep from spilling some of it. Christine stood there, leaning against the small table next to his reading chair. She smiled, the little half-smile he'd always loved. Who was he kidding, he wondered? There hadn't been any mannerism she had that hadn't blown him away.

"You're alive?!!!" he asked incredulously.

She rolled her eyes to the ceiling sheepishly and bit her lip.

"No," she admitted.

"A ghost?" he guessed, then added, "Or did I just drink too much of this stuff?"

"Neither," she told him. "It's hard to explain. The best I can do is say I'm a sort of fairy godmother now, but that's not really accurate, either. It implies that I can grant wishes, which I can't."

He supposed it fit, in a way. The Christine before him was the older version, the one his present age, who had claimed not to know him, dressed in a green velvet cloak of a style worn in the kingdoms. Surely, he thought, if his imagination had conjured her up, she would have been the Christine from his memory - the one he'd just remembered from Virginia's birth day or from his own wedding, radiant as she'd looked then.

"I wish you'd been at Virginia's wedding," he blurted.

"What makes you think I wasn't?" she asked.

He thought about that for a moment, then asked tentatively, "So you recognize us now?"

"Oh, yes," she said, looking away pensively for a moment. Could ghosts cry? he wondered, but before he could follow that line of thought, she continued, "I have Virginia to thank for that. Thank you."

"Why thank me?"

"For wanting her so badly, I suppose," she explained. "Insisting that she be born. I really did need to have someone besides myself to think about, even though I know it seemed otherwise."

"But I was just thinking that if it wasn't for her ..."

"If it hadn't been that it would have only been something else," she told him. "Virginia wasn't the problem. I was. I didn't want to grow up; I wanted someone to always take care of me. That was the real problem. That would have caught up with me eventually, even if we'd never had a child."

Tony thought of the bankruptcy he'd endured less than a year after Christine had left. He'd always tried to tell himself it had only happened because he'd been too distraught from the mess of his personal life. Hadn't it? Was that what she meant?

"You can't second-guess it," Christine told him, evidently reading his thoughts. It was an eerie feeling; he'd used to wish fervently that she could, and now it was only after she had gone ... but she was continuing with an explanation, "There are far too many variables involved for anyone to be able to say that if only this one thing had or hadn't taken place, everything would be different. But I know I would have ended up as I did, nonetheless."

"Destiny?" he whispered.

"If you like," she allowed. "But not in the way some think of it, as a pre-determined set of actions that can't be changed. I made my decisions. No one else did. There was simply a greater probability of my decisions being the way they were rather than otherwise. It's quite difficult to go against the grain of long-established habits and thought patterns, but it can be done. Virginia managed it."

He looked at her questioningly.

"She was finally able to acknowledge and return the wolf's love," she explained. "It was far more likely that she would stay as she was and return to her old way of life in New York. He helped her to change the path of her life, but it was her decision, nonetheless."

"Then they weren't destined to be together," he concluded. "Is that what you're saying?"

"Not at all. It's certainly their destiny to be together now. We make our own destiny, as I did when you convinced me to go ahead and have Virginia. If it hadn't been for her, I'd never have gotten free."

"But you ..." he'd wanted to say you're dead, but it sounded too ridiculous.

She heard it anyway.

"Yes," she agreed. "And I thought it was too late, too, there at the end. But it wasn't. I did, finally, manage to grow up."

"And?"

"I have a certain responsibility to warn you of what is about to happen," she informed him, "Although I'm constrained from saying too much about it."

"Does this have to do with that forget spell and scrap of verse we found?"

"Yes. Something very old and powerful is about to wake. More powerful than anyone expected it to be at the first, even when it altered the destiny of both this world and yours long ago. It will fight to prevent what it willed from changing."

"Both worlds?" he asked, astounded. "Does that have something to do with what happened to us being shown on TV?"

"Yes," she told him. "The guardians are doing what they can to help, in the ways available to them. Unfortunately, the enemy has methods of blocking them. Whatever happens, remain true to your task. Don't let anything, no matter how innocent or reasonable it sounds, stop you."

"Guardians?" he asked, confused. "What do you mean? Who are they? Stop us from what?"

"Most think the guardians long dead, but they still exist, although they tend not to think of time in the same way we do - but you don't need to worry about them," she said cryptically. "And you will know when the time comes."

She started for the door, and he followed, hurriedly.

"No, wait!" he cried. "You can't leave! I don't have a clue what that all meant!"

"I'm sorry, that's all I can say."

He set his drink down and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Will I see you again?" he asked, reaching for her.

"No," she said gently. "I'm dead now, remember?"

She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. He closed his eyes, burying his face in her auburn hair.

"Goodbye, Tony," she whispered.

He remembered nothing else until he woke alone in his bed the next morning.