Once Garwin returned with luncheon, the three of them picnicked on a patch of moss next to a crystal brook. Willow gave Angel an evil grin as she turned to Garwin. "So, Garwin, tell me what Angel was like when he was little."
Garwin smiled at her, and his smile was not unlike the one she had given Angel. "Well, let me see. I bet you didn't know, for example, that Angel has a deep seated fear of squirrels."
Angel snorted, practically spraying wine all over himself. Garwin continued undaunted as Willow prompted him with a laugh. "You see, one day, long ago, as six year old Angel wandered about the castle garden, he saw some squirrels frolicking among the seedlings. Being a naturally generous fellow, he decided to share a snack with the boisterous creatures. He had some nuts, and had been informed that squirrels love nuts. He did his best to draw them closer, but the squirrels kept running away. Eventually, he hit upon the idea of laying down a trail of nuts. The squirrels, seeing that he meant no harm, crept ever closer.
Finally, one of them came close enough to eat from his hand. Angel found this very exciting, especially once the first squirrel's compatriots joined in the feast. Unfortunately, one of the squirrels, possibly with a case of shortsightedness, mistook one of Angel's tender digits for one of the nuts he was offering. In its haste to devour all the nuts, the squirrel bit Angel's middle finger.
You should have seen His Royal Highness, tearing into the castle with tears streaming down his cheeks and blood dripping from his poor, chewed upon finger."
Willow laughed in sympathy, and Angel looked at her in amusement.
"Such an experience," Garwin continued melodramatically, "would almost certainly scar any young monarch for life. But alas for poor Prince Alaric, this was not his last run-in with the dreaded beasts. Oh no, four years later, by then a manly ten year old, he was again attacked by one of the monsters. He and I were playing hide and seek in a small patch of forest. I was counting against a tree while Angel hid himself. I had been looking for no more than two and a half minutes when I heard a yell. Angel suddenly fell out of the tree in which he had been hiding, fortunately landing in a small bed of pine needles. As I rushed over to my friend's side, I noticed what looked like a small piece of fur attached to his neck.
It was, of course, a squirrel. Apparently disturbed by an intruder in its sylvan home, it had grabbed onto the back of his neck, clinging to him with its tiny yet sharp claws. I helped Angel free himself from the grasp of the creature, and together we ran to Aggie, our nursemaid, knowing she would fix him. She did indeed bandage his neck, but there are some wounds that go too deep for healing, and ever since, your future husband has been leery indeed of the bushy tailed marauders that respect not his crown." His story ended with a flourish, he finally cracked the smile he had been holding in, and the three of them laughed together like old friends.
Which, in fact, whether indirectly or no, they were.
****
Upon returning to the palace, Angel had been dragged away to some royal council, so Willow was left to her own devices to find some amusement. After changing out of her dusty riding habit and donning a bright white kirtle covered by a lavender colored bliaut, she decided to go exploring.
She found her way to the Great Hall by memory, determined to learn some of the geography of the palace. There were no visible signs of the recent festivities, and Willow made her way towards a large doorway on the far side of the huge chamber. Passing through the elaborately carved door, she found herself in a series of long galleries, each more magnificent than the one preceding it.
The first gallery held armor, brightly polished suits accompanied by all their requisite accessories. It was a bit too militaristic for Willow to understand the purposes of much of it, but she couldn't help but be fascinated by the variations each knight made in designing his defensive suit. Most of all, she loved looking at all of the different shields. She knew that a shield was often the only thing to save a knight from death, but the patterns on each one were as interesting as the knights themselves must have been. Some depicted towers and fortresses, grand constructions that certainly had a great deal of meaning for the men who immortalized them in metal. Some were more fanciful, containing griffins, manticores, undulating serpents, and one even had a unicorn.
The ones that interested Willow most of all were the ones with beautifully scripted words covering their surfaces. Some were in ancient languages she couldn't even begin to understand, with words consisting of runes that she had never seen. Others, however, were in varied forms of Latin, and even with her basic knowledge of the language, she could figure out at least some of their meanings. There were strong words of protection and blessings placed on those shields, words containing power. She ran her hand lightly over them, and she knew that if she had been a knight, she would have wanted one of those shields. Willow, of all people, knew the power of words.
Upon reaching the end of the gallery, she moved into the next with a gasp of delight. The room was made of vast stone walls, but she could hardly see them, for almost every inch was covered in magnificent tapestries. She could only guess at their immense weight, even as she was dazzled by their color and incredible detail. Moving closer to one, she hardly dared breathe, unconsciously hesitant to disturb the tiny figures made of brightly colored thread.
Entire lives were lived in each patch of woven history, and Willow was enthralled by the incredible detail. She couldn't decide if the weaver's greater talent had been in pure artistry, or in the insightful telling of the many tales she was seeing. She saw miniature dukes proposing to beautiful ladies in the middle of rose arbors. She saw great treaties being signed between powerful nations, she saw said treaties being broken, and she saw the wars that resulted. She saw men dying by the thousands on battlefields made of silk, with their woven blood flowing in frozen rivulets past fallen horses and generals.
She saw women dying in childbirth, and women who lived to watch their children grow old. She saw death and mourning, and she saw joy occurring for no reason at all but that people wished for its existence. She saw castles from long ago, courtiers flirting and insinuating with words, even as footmen and maids kissed in the servants' passages.
She saw valiant knights who rode out against great dragons, with some emerging victorious, and some being charred in the attempt. She saw sorcerers who strove for anarchy, wizards who upheld the law, and the populace forever caught in the middle.
She saw a young girl, clad all in magnificent white, given away by her father at the altar. The magnificence of the royal wedding was caught forever in the strands, but the girl's face could not be seen as she was passed into her husband's care. Willow wanted so much to see her expression, to know if she was happy to be married, or if it meant an end of herself...
Standing abruptly, Willow shook her head to clear away her suddenly disturbing thoughts. Perhaps Marie's harsh words from before were finally catching up with her. Deciding she had had enough of tapestries, Willow quickly moved into the next gallery.
She suddenly felt very self conscious as hundreds of eyes stared at her.
Catching her breath, Willow almost laughed in relief as she realized that there were no people in the room; rather, she had entered the hall of Royal Portraits. Her former curiosity restored, Willow began working her way through the paintings, staring intently at the images of the ancestors of her other self.
There were a few redheads, and many green eyes, but the common factor between most of the portraits was the expression of extreme intelligence in every ancient face. Their costumes were rich and varied, but they all had that look in their eyes, the look of knowledge within, the look of an active mind that works incessantly. They might not have vocalized the constant stream of mental activity the way Willow did, but she could see it had happened internally nonetheless.
Willow didn't know them, but in a strange way, she still felt that they were her family. Not just that they were part of her bloodline, but that she belonged among them.
"Ridiculous," she muttered, turning quickly to find her way out. But she paused at the door, looking back at all of her great great great great grandmothers and uncles and cousins. She was their legacy. She was part of their line.
She was very nervous.
****
Determined not to revert to old habits, Angel stifled his instinct to growl as the chancellor of his soon-to-be father-in-law began yet another speech. Every possible benefit of his marriage to the princess had been covered several times already, but no one else seemed to object to hearing them again. They were all so delighted that the betrothal was in place, that none of them seemed to think it necessary that he spend any time with his bride-to-be until she was actually his bride.
Meanwhile, he was going slowly mad as everyone recycled the same speech by putting emphasis on different words. "...and the GREAT advantages of this union are not ONLY manifest in the aspects of CHANGE..."
Angel's foot went to sleep.
Admittedly, at least some part of him was thrilled by the tiny reminder that he was human. However, as reminders go, it was certainly one of the less enjoyable. He really couldn't put up with their nonsense for much longer.
The chancellor finally finished, beaming at those seated near him. Angel could see that another councilor was about to stand, and unable to bear it any longer, he leaped to his feet first. The table fell deadly silent at the sight of the standing prince. Praying that his talent for improvisation had not left him, Angel spread his arms.
"Your Majesty," he began, nodding at the king who continued to look at him in surprise, "and gentlemen of the court. I am indeed honored by not only your gracious welcome into your country, but your welcome into your royal family as well. I had heard many tales of the princess' beauty, charm, and wit, but not a one approached the truth. It is with the greatest of care that I will attempt to be something close to the husband that she deserves."
The king beamed at Angel's words, and he knew that flattering Willow had definitely been the proper way to begin. "I know that our kingdoms have histories that some might say stand in the way of this union, histories of war and betrayal. But I will not speak of the details." In fact, he wouldn't have been able to if he had tried. He knew none of the histories he hinted at.
"All that I can give to you," he continued, his voice echoing strongly and his eyes blazing with sincerity, "is my word, my word that not only will I care for your princess with all the respect that she should be afforded and more, but that I will care for your people. I do not mean I will provide for them, because you have taught them to do that themselves. I mean that I will care for them, I will consider their welfare as important a thing to be preserved as my own. When I marry Her Royal Highness, I do not just wed a woman. I wed her family, I wed her country.
You have no reason to believe that I am trustworthy, and I will never fault any of you for being wary of me. But I swear that I will watch over your people with a vigilance as great as your own. I embrace the responsibility you are affording to me, and I thank you for it.
There is a day in the future I am looking for, a day that I must create myself. On that day, you will trust me as one of your own people. You will not regard me as a foreigner, but you will embrace me," Angel looked around the table, making eye contact with every man there, "...as a son." He sat down slowly, wondering if he had been just a little too melodramatic.
That was when the table erupted in applause and cheers, men standing to express their appreciation. Angel allowed them a humble smile, though he was grinning madly within. "Overexcited much?" he thought, feeling a pang as he thought of his absent secretary. He had no time to wonder about Cordelia, however, as everyone in the room rushed at him in an effort to shake his hand and welcome him properly.
He didn't notice his father, sitting in the chair where he had been all along. He alone did not stand, did not applaud, did not smile. He had watched his son through narrowed eyes, scowling at him through the length of his encouraging speech. As Angel smiled and chatted with his father's former enemies, he stood and stalked out, a look of disgust twisting his grizzled face.