Work Text:
“Ah, thank you, My Lord.” He said, catching the edge of the door that had not been held open for him. William started, obviously unaware of the Huntsman’s presence behind him. There were advantages to wearing boots made for hunting rather than boots made for appearing stylish. William owned the former, of course, but was too much in favor of tradition to wear them to a formal meeting of the Queen’s Council. Eric had no such qualms. Hell, if he did suddenly turn up in attire typically categorized as “suitable” they would lose one of their favorite things to gripe about. He figured that he was doing them a service.
“How good to see you, Lord Huntsman,” William returned neutrally. “I have not seen you about the palace in past days. I trust you are well?”
“Oh, very. I have been out in the villages, looking into potential recruits for the Queen’s Guard.”
“I did not know that our army was so insubstantial that you needed to seek recruits from amongst the ranks of bakers and bookbinders.” William’s words tone was light, but carried an unmistakable air of disapproval.
“Actually, one of my recruits is a cobbler,” Eric said easily.
“A…cobbler?”
“Aye. He makes a fine pair of shoes at quite a reasonable price. He also happens to be one of the best archers in the land.” He feared he took too much enjoyment in leading the other man astray. Oh by the way, I took the time to visit your tailor, as you suggested last week. He’s quite a fine one, too. Had my new vest ready by the time I was heading back to the palace.” He buffed an imaginary piece of dust off the dark leather. There were subtle differences between this vest and his old one- a slightly sleeker cut and a finer quality of leather less suited for tramping through the woods, but for all intents and purposes, it looked practically undistinguishable from its predecessor. The expression on William’s face was priceless. There seemed little reason to spoil the fun by telling him that the tailor had also agreed to deliver a number of other, more traditional garments to the palace when they were finished.
William was saved from having to come up with a polite reply, however, by the arrival of the Queen. She swept into the room through the door which led to the throne room. That, coupled with the hint of tension that played across her brow, told him that she had just come from hearing petitioners. Important though she felt it was, he knew it drained her to be around crowds of people demanding her attention after spending so many years in solitude. Yet he was also aware that in an odd way she loved it- hearing about the concerns of her people. In the same way, she genuinely cared for the nobles and councilors who alternately bickered and fawned around her. He did not know how she did it, and did not envy her position the slightest bit. All that she endured would drive him mad were he in her shoes.
There was a momentary bustle and scraping of chairs as the eleven lords that made up the council hurried to seat themselves in the best seats possible, the nearer to the Queen the better. There were only two apart from himself who did not jockey for position. The first was Robert Stanley, the Lord Treasurer, who, being as he controlled the purse strings of the kingdom, was already quite assured of his own indispensability. The other was Lord Windermere, a portly, elderly lord who occupied a place on the council more for his long memory and cheerful demeanor than his political influence. He actually quite liked Lord Windermere. The old man found some of the less pressing discussions just as idiotic he did, and would often amuse himself by drawing unflattering caricatures of whomever was bleating the loudest. He was particularly fond of one that compared Lord Covington’s likeness to that of a sheep. The resemblance was really quite striking. He had been forced to hide a smile behind his fist on more than one occasion. In any case, it was typically the three of them who obliged the others by taking seats at the far end of the table, as they did again today. Once everyone was settled, the meeting commenced.
It dragged on for more than an hour without incident, with discussions and reports of the goings-on in the kingdom, from the price of grain exports to the continued shortage of wool for the clothmakers to make and trade. The trouble came when the Queen announced her intention to follow through on a desire she had earlier expressed to tour the kingdom. This prompted a flurry of discussion and debate: Which noble homes should she honor with her visit? Which route was most advantageous for her to take? How many servants and attendants should be brought along, and then how many soldiers? How many mules she comprise the baggage train to supply the Queen and her retinue?
At first, she endeavored to rein them gently back in, insisting that she wanted to travel with only a small party. Still, there continued to be suggestions after suggestion of “necessary” addition, and she eventually sat back, jaw clenched as she waited for the fuss to die down. He could see that she was losing patience.
The suggestion that another six mules would have to be added to the baggage train in order to carry the feed for the other mules already added was clearly the last straw.
“My Lord Huntsman,” She interrupted, her voice sounding clear above the chatter, “You have not spoken much on the matter. Tell us, what are your thoughts?” Heads swiveled to look in his direction. He held her eye for an extra second, then turned his attention to the council.
“While it is true that the Queen must be afforded adequate protection,” he acknowledged, “Most of the roads in the kingdom were never designed for the passage of long trains of carts, wagons, and horses. What’s more, many routes fell into disrepair during Ravenna’s reign. It might be prudent to insist on a more modestly sized party that can travel lighter and faster on the roads.”
She shot him a look of gratitude. It was replaced a moment later, however, with a flicker of frustration as Lord Covington suggested that they simply limit the journey to only those thoroughfares of sufficient size and quality as to support the full royal excursion. Several of the lords voiced their immediate approval of the proposal. By the time the meeting ended, the entourage had indeed been scaled down a bit (it seemed that they could eliminate the need for one of the original twenty-three mules) and preparations were estimated to require a minimum of two months. Even this was uncertain, as William had then been the one to question whether it would then be occurring too late in the year, and another lord had jumped on the notion and asked if it wouldn’t be better to put the even off until the following spring?
At this point, the Queen had thanked them all for their contributions and firmly dismissed them, saying that they could continue the discussion at the next council meeting. As they stood to leave, she signaled that he should remain behind, and so he lingered unobtrusively while they all tricked out in groups of two and three.
When they were alone, she let out her breath with a great sigh. In a second, the regal demeanor disappeared, and just was simply the woman he had come to know. He preferred her that way. He could tell she was discouraged however.
“I’m sure much will be resolved at the next council meeting,” he said, more to lift her spirits than out of any true belief in the possibility. She saw right through him, however, and gave a derisive, patently unladylike snort.
“No, it won’t. But it’s a lovely thought nonetheless.” She turned her head to stare out one of the windows. They ran from floor to ceiling along the long walls of the chamber, and were by far the best feature of the council chamber. On the warmest days, they could be thrown open to let cross breezes dusk and blow through the room, while in the winter (he had been told) the frost etched stunning designs upon each pane of glass that were chased away each day by the heat from the two great stone fireplaces at either end of the room.
He knew she had fond memories of her father in this room, and remembered childhood days when many of the lords who sat on the council now had sat around this table with the King, considerable younger and less world-weary than they looked now. Everyone had lost a great deal when Ravenna came, weaving her spell over the castle. Yet this room, they had learned from the servants, had largely escaped her touch.
The Black Queen, as the common folk had taken to calling her, had disliked both this room and the idea of a Monarch’s Council, and so had ordered the room locked and never opened. When they had reclaimed the castle and unlocked these doors, there had still been a handful of old papers shoved into the drawer of the scribe’s desk, some in the King’s own hand. He knew that Snow White kept them still, carefully folded and tied with ribbon, in the chest of drawers in her bedchamber. Although there were plenty of reminders of him everywhere, the scraps of paper those scraps of paper had been one of the few things remaining that had been solely his.
He understood their appeal. He himself still carried in his money ouch a single copper coin that his own father had given him when he was a boy. It was of little value, and he was not normally one for sentiment, but not matter how destitute and desperate he had gotten in his time, he had never traded it away.
After a moment of quiet contemplation, she rose and stepped closer to the glass.
“Look at them,” she murmured. He stepped up behind her and followed her gaze to where two children, probably the children of palace servants, were attacking each other gleefully with swords made out of sticks and imagination.
“William and I used to play like that,” She said wistfully. “Things were simpler then. It all seems so very complicated now. Back then, all we wanted was to play in the courtyard and steal cakes from the kitchen. We used to plan elaborate raids to get them, us and all of the other children.” She shook her head. “Now? Things are different. Though he does not say it, he wants more. Of life, of me, and I don’t know how to please him.”
“He wants to be important.” Eric observed. In a moment of boldness, he placed his hands on her shoulders, using his fingers to ease the tension from them. She pulled her hair out of the way, relaxing into his touch. “He has been important his entire life, and he does not lack ambition. I believe he means well by you, but he will never be content. Even if you grant him more that you are willing, it will still not be enough. He will always aspire to be more, do more, and have more. If you let him wed you, he would even mean to rule.”
“You think he wants to marry me?”
“I think he looks at you like he is thinking it.”
“And you believe that he wants me only for my crown?”
“Not that alone, no. He cares for you- that is plain. You were children together, and share a bond because of it. But I believe that part of what attracts him to you is the fact that you are a Queen. He is the son of a Duke. Without your hand, there is little farther that his star can rise. He knows this, and it colors the way he sees you.”
“And how do you see me, Huntsman?”
His fingers stilled on her neck.
“I honor and protect my Queen.” He replied dutifully. Then he leaned closer, close enough that she could feel his words echo in the air beside her. “But even if she were not my Queen, I would honor and protect her all the same.”
She turned to face him, challenging and inquisitive.
“So if we were just normal people, if there were not a realm and a crown between us, you are saying that everything would still be exactly the same as it is? There would be no difference?”
“No.” He responded, unable to keep the hunger for her from his eyes as he reached to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, “There would definitely be a difference.”
Her breath faltered, and for a wild second he thought she might actually kiss him again, there in front of the windows with the sun streaming in, highlighting them in the view of anyone who looked up from the courtyard. He was both relieved and disappointed when she stepped back instead, turning to the table and cutting the moment short. She took a few seconds to gather herself, for both of them to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary had transpired between them.
“So tell me how the recruitment of my guard is coming.” She said, changing the topic to something more neutral.
“Very well, Milady,” he replied, and began to update her on the progress that he had made during the days he had spent away from the palace. The conversation from there on was brief, and mercifully painless, but if anyone had pressed them about it even minutes later, they both would have been at a loss to recount what they had said.