Chapter 1: Prologue: My Crime, Aethelstan
Chapter Text
Blood gushed from the wound sustained on her chest, heart pounding to a violent rhythm. Lady Annmarie watched as sparks flew from the metal bed, a body laid out, convulsing with light and lightening. The woman held onto her bleeding chest and watched from afar as the signs from below the table lit up in a molten glow, fueling the form with unholy life.
She sent a silent prayer above so perhaps God would forgive her for what she was about to do. If God could bless the womb of Mary with his virtue, then why not her? Why must she take such a dark road to cradle a child in her arms.
Roars and a chorus of voices pulled her from her thoughts as the body now beheld a heaving chest, struggling to take in the damp air around it. The eyes glowed with orange fire and crimson, smitten with the brimstone edge of the eyes. Annmarie looked about her, to the destroyed room, to the instruments of darkened machinations floating with the daemonic energy pulsing through the air.
Like a fairytale, the moon shone through the great circular window above, bathing the enchantment taking place within the tower of St. Wulfstan, patron of blade and salt.
Annmarie began to cry as fear overtook her; perhaps this dance with the devil was not one she was meant to partake in. All of this for a child? All of this for love as deep as the darkest pit.
With sudden clanging of swords and the climax of the ensemble from before, the voices molded together in one final call, breaking the poor mortal woman who watched onward.
Once the climax was reached, the lights and sounds, the cries from beneath and the harrowing warning of her deeds were silenced. Ann waited for moments without end, heart racing, mind waiting for something horrible. She risked a glance at her surroundings, eyes darting back and forth. Surely the lords of hell were with her in this very room?
No, they were not. Instead, Lady Annmarie was met by small breaths, ragged and choked. Ann looked to the source of her decisions, the thing that motivated her being. She saw the body twitch and curl around itself.
Standing up, she watched as the offspring before her inhaled and steadied its breath as it acclimated to its new surrounding. The moon from above shone with vigilance; Diana gazed down upon the scene, her iridescent eyes gleaming through vast night.
Violins played by angels wrung as the woman slowly waked to the body, searching the new life for any sign of awaking. Eyes faintly opened, fluttering open and close, repeating. Ann watched with fascination as hands jumped and knees bent. The child slowly sat up, eyes cast downward without addressing the woman beside them.
They slowly turning to Ann with eyes glazed with tears, they called out, “Mother.”
The word was said more like a statement, a claim made with certainty. Annmarie caught off guard, registered the word and smiled at her child. She reached out and waited for her brood to make the first advancement. Like a lamb, they gave her a soft hug, light and slightly trembling.
She pushed down sobs and whimpers as she made a full embrace into her child’s arms. For granting her this, she had returned in full; a charred cloak of her long-dead ancestor, a knight, burnt at the stake for supposed witchcraft. Her ancestors demanded she heal the past and let the traumatized spirit rest in finality for this exchange.
What an enchanting figure they must have been, so noble to let this poor mother finally have kin of her own.
Picking her heir into her arms, the woman soothed them with slight rocking as if they were a babe.
“I think I will call you Aethelstan, strength of my flesh.”
From that day forward, the house of Hellenor had a heir, a child born of fire and dark.
Chapter 2: The Dead and the Living
Summary:
House Hellenor attends the funeral of Gwen Dimoche. The young Aethelstan returns home, giving us insight to their hobbies, before an unexpected letter finds it’s way into the hands of Lady Hellenor.
Chapter Text
The small whimpers of gatherers could be heard, resonating throughout the courtyard as the procession continued. The body of a lord was lowered into the cold earth beneath, to be swallowed by dirt and prayer. Aethelstan watched on as the priest gave his words with an air of respect for the deceased.
They wondered what was going through their mother’s head. Was mother sad like the others; or disappointed; or perhaps felt nothing for this unfortunate man. Aethelstan knew little about the other aristocrats, they rarely left the mansion due to their special “circumstance”. In fact, Aethel knew no one here, or at least most. They knew some faintly from description and from the rare times they were allowed outside.
One glance told him pass the veil of lace flowers was the face of Duchess Roy and her husband Duke Roy. They owned a decent toy making business that branched out to all sorts of industries of entertainment. A glimpse to their left, and Aethelstan spotted the widowed Lord Walker - the man who, according to their mother, was surrounded by nothing but books and a moat. His home was much older than the Hellenors.
Aethelstan wondered what it was like to scale a castle wall, to partake in a siege, arrows flying past one’s head with brothers dropping like flies to the murky water below. It was a morbid thought, but one couldn’t help the wanton imagination of youth. “Let us bow our heads and pray, Oh Father who art in Heaven . . .” The holy reverend began. Aethelstan watched as their mother’s head bowed, her hands followed into fists before her. Her hair blended into the veil; she could have gone without covering, her locks would have been enough.
Looking around, Aethelstan found themselves disinterested in participating in prayer, focus moving to others around them once again. Searching the adults, their eyes landed on two girls ahead of them, their hair was pale as snow. Observing from afar, they watched as the girls leaned into one another, their voices wouldn’t have been heard by regular people, but to Aethelstan, they heard barely audible whispers.
With curiosity, Aethelstan listened in on their conversation, trying to ignore the priest and his prayers. The two girls were crying, one comforted the other. *These two must be the Dimoche twins, * thought Aethelstan, the children of Gwen Dimoche. You felt pity for them, they were so young and had to endure the pain of losing a loved one, a father at that.
You never knew your father, only the tales of the tide and old memories from mother.
Aethelstan kept their head bowed, watching as the snow from above fell upon the cold casket. They shuffled snow around their shoes, mindlessly listening to the holy man’s words.
“ . . . He has never committed a crime, but he has unfortunately passed on . . .”
Never committed a crime? No, no man leaves this world without committing bad, maybe even evil. Aethel knew this for a fact, and an obvious one at that, but in the presence of God, many forgot the malice of their own hearts.
“ . . . His voice and appearance will be engraved in everyone’s heart . . .”
They knew not the face of Gwen Dimoche, but if he was anything like his children, he was surely a handsome man. Aethelstan’s nose twitched and they held a sneeze from passing. Wouldn’t want to disrupt the reverend’s speech, something told them.
“ . . . There is no need to be in grief over this as the Heavenly Father wants such a kind man by his side. His soul shall live in the Heavenly Kingdom forever.”
“Amen,” said Aethelstan, head raised to look ahead at the person in front. The casket was covered in dirt, the snow landing atop the heap. The mourners filed out of the church courtyard, following after the Dimche heirs and the Lady Sylvia. The Lady Hellenor and her child walked at the back, surrounded by the nuns and the priest. Aethelstan walked behind their mother’s tall figure, looking at the nuns and their modest attire.
After the burial, a reception was held at a banquet hall. Aethelstan stared in awe at the lovely design that crept across the walls and ceiling. Lady Hellenor took their hand and guided them through the crowded lounge. Decorum was spread about, symbolizing the occasion. Lost in the details and crowd, Aethelstan barely had the time to register where they were going before they accidentally bumped into another.
“Oof,” gasped Aethelstan, looking backwards toward the other. You met the eyes of a pale-haired boy, his hair was trimmed neatly. This was Nemo Dimoche, son of Lady Sylvia, widow of Lord Dimoche, you recognized
“My apologies,” Aethelstan said hastily, “I was not looking were I was going. Here, let me help you.”
Nemo’s clothes were tidied as you brushed him down and reached to straighten his collar. You offered a smile, the boy only nodded a thanks.
“Aethelstan, be more careful next time,” chastised your mother, “do not be so rude, and keep your head up.”
You bowed your head, “Apologies Mother,” you said, then turning to Nemo again, “apologies Nemo. I didn’t mean to bump into you.”
“It’s alright,” he said softly.
“Our condolences, Lord Nemo, I cannot imagine the feelings you are going through.” Your mother offered a polite bow and smile to the boy. You watched as he tensed at the mention of Lord Dimoche.
Both Aethel and Nemo departed with an awkward bow to one another, the other heir disappearing into the crowd of adults. Aethelstan watched as he joined his mother on a couch. She was surrounded by other women, all of whom smothered her in sympathy and sweet words. Another boy, his hair wavy and wild, had a brash air about him. He looked like he wanted this entire event to be over; Carlos Dimoche, you recalled. The Hellenor remembered when, during a past garden party, he taunted and harassed the other youths.
Glancing at the other son, Aethelstan watched him run his gloved hands through his raven locks before folding his arms in modesty. *Sean Dimoche*, Aethel thought, *the quiet one, the one who looked like he was always calculating something. That one was a strange one, and someone Aethelstan could not quite put their finger on. He was unlike his brothers and his mother; he was his own creature, wandering beside the Dimoches.
“Strange family,” muttered Aethelstan. Lady Hellenor looked at her spawn when they spoke, but couldn’t pick what was uttered.
❧
Stepping into their carriage, the kin of Hellenor departed for their mansion by the sea. While his mother dozed off, Aethelstan watched the outside, admiring the ravens that fluttered amongst the trees, their croaks and grating conversations carried across the snow and trees.
Upon their arrival, Lady Hellenor and Aethelstan were greeting by the servants and escorted inside. Aethelstan wandered off to their room while their mother disappeared into her writing room.
As they came in, they went for the bookcase, searched their shelves for any books on the skeletal system, something on bones. Aethelstan’s next project was to embroider a design of the organic matrix and snakes, maybe add in some other designs as well. The young Hellenor wasn’t familiar with the human anatomy, and often had to revisit old texts to refresh on some accuracies.
Grabbing a needle and embroidery scissors, they gathered all the tools they would need to begin. Sitting in a chair, Aethelstan set to work, allowing their mind and actions to flow into synchronicity. Aethelstan’s mind did this when they were focused - everything was tuned out, and all attention was given to the design.
Aethelstan began to hum to themselves, lightly bopping their leg in content. After some time, ribs and the mandible were beginning to form.
Light knocks suddenly came from their door. Setting their work aside, Aethelstan fixed their clothes and made their way over to the door.
“My Lord? Your tutor is here.”
Ah yes, Aethelstan’s lessons. Today, the funeral postponed their basic courses of learning, but one - swordsmanship. This was by far Aethelstan’s favorite. While they enjoyed history the most out of their subjects, it was active activities that made their heart flutter. Swords were always an admired subject of Aethelstan’s, not just for their past, but the typologies of the weapon. To Aethelstan, the blade was an artifact of discipline and control, and protection and strength. Swords were a subject of history that Aethelstan already was exposed to at an early age - their family, the Hellenors, were distributors and manufacturers of guns, knives, and the life-ending assortment. Swords as well for the military and other families and tutors. They glanced at their own sword hung high on the wall, its black hilt gleaming in the light, shooing him away to his
Swiftly, Aethelstan removed their garbs and went for far more appropriate clothing. Leaving their room, Aethelstan followed Mr. Wight to one of the halls. The snow from the outside now fell heavier and violently. Snowflakes whirled together as they danced in their freezing ballroom. Frost grew alongst the window frame, picturing the winter scene with elegance.
The room was a welcoming respite after today’s somber meeting. Aethelstan greeted their teacher with enthusiasm, taking their sword belt, wrapping it around their waist. Readying themselves, Aethelstan eyed their teacher with a slight giddiness. They couldn’t help it, there was something about the activity that was invigorating.
“Ready,” their mentor began, “begin!” His voice was loud, echoing throughout the room and the vaulted ceiling. With a stifled laugh of excitement, Aethelstan came after their master.
To understand this duel, know that the swords that are being used are not rapiers, as most nobleman’s sons would be honing. These here were blunt, practice swords. Perfect for learning, they mimicked the real thing, heavy longswords. Aethelstan had grown out of wooden ones, opting for steel.
Aethelstan huffed with sweat as they followed their mentors footwork, aiming to keep in step, never faltering. To waver was death, and death was not an option. Aethelstan’s medievalism was a source of great hyperfixation when it came to fighting. To them, it was living to see the next day. Originally, their mother was confused by the avid passion, but after a few nights of negotiation, she understood and let them begin their lessons.
The Hellenor had little interest in the rapier, as it was too dainty, they wanted something heavy and hard. Something that weighed in their arm and swung like a bat. Lady Hellenor, despite agreeing, was weary of her offspring’s safety. However, over time they proved most capable, and with an excellent teacher, Aethelstan learned with great vigor and excitement. Overall, Lady Hellenor was just happy her brood was safe and satisfied with their hobbies.
Ducking from a blow to the front, Aethel turned and swung at their masters back; they met with blades clashing, arm reaching behind him. Aethelstan thrusted and parried multiple assaults before their master had them on their back, knocked to the ground.
Hot and worn, both practiced and reviewed each of Aethelstan’s moves, including technique and fluidity of the attacks. When the class was over, Lady Annmarie saw the teacher out and turned to one of the servants, ordering a bath to be ran for Aethel’s sweaty form.
❧
Lady Annmarie murmured to herself quietly, hands preparing and organizing the alter space. She reviewed each step in her head; the veneration would need precision and focus. She needed to find the flow that she had before. Making sure everything was ready, she checked herself in the mirror - all looked to be in place.
Looking to the picture before her, she met the eyes of a young man, hair tousled and unkept, staring at her with calm. She stood in silence and slowed her breathing down, letting her body fall into a rhythm.
Tonight, the ritual would be focused on sleep, something she was lacking, and the veneration of him of course. She started off slow, letting herself build to the climax. She knelt and muttered a song that was akin to an old ballad she found in old tomes. It fit perfect, and made her think of him.
Around Ann’s body, swords pointed inward towards her kneeling form. She sat on her feet, clapping her hands to her rhythm and slowly opening her eyes, making eye contact with the drawing.
Standing up, she kept clapping, her song continued onward. Moving to her feet, she stomped around a set path she made for herself; through the gathering of swords, she moved with grace. The knightly baubles shuddered with each step, and with each step the smoke from the candles melting at the alter grew high and higher.
When her song reached its climax, she stopped herself where she began.
Annmarie began to verbalize her veneration, calling out to the Duke of Fyre. She was reverent in her tone, in her movements and friendly in her words. She addressed the man with proper titles and thanks before moving to her requests for the night.
“Dragon, I ask for full rest for tonight and the nights after. Let me and the people of this house rest finally, I ask also that my child may continue to find favor in your care. Thank you, Duke of Fyre; Dragon; Lord Sabyre; Lion of Salt.
From beyond the bladed circle, a cloaked figure stood just out of view, watching the rite being performed with approval. Feeling eyes boring into her side, she waited for approval to turn. A sound of two clanking swords resounded - yes.
With care, she slowly looked over to see the man that stood near. He was tall, more than six foot, with a head of messy hair. His clothes were clean and covered in a thick cloak with fur at the top, crowning his neck. Ornate armor glimmered in candlelight, catching faint movements from the body it shielded.
Annmarie turned and bowed in his direction and he bowed back. After that, he disappeared, signaling the end of the successful ritual. With a smile, she turned to the picture she drew. Picking up the swords one by one, she put them back into their sheaths if they had one, and set them on the wall were they hung with more of their kin. She blew out the candles and covered the picture. She didn’t have to cover the picture, he told her, but she felt like it anyway.
“Whatever helps,” he had said.
Cleaning the area, she wandered back to her room, the servants and Aethelstan long asleep. Under the covers, she drifted into a dreamless sleep.
❧
**1 Month Later**
With the morning sun, Aethelstan awoke, stretching and cracking their back and relieving tight muscles. They walked over to a bowl filled with water, splashing their face, cleaning any overnight grit. Turning to their comb, they smoothed out their hair and pulled it up out of their face. Fully dressed in a comfortable vest and pants, they moved to their boots, tying up the black laces.
Making their way to breakfast, Aethelstan gave small nods and hellos to passing servants. One must always be kind to all stations of the house, their mother told them. Even if they were subordinates, as society dictated, they were human nonetheless and deserving of respect. And, on the morbid note, Aethelstan had heard stories of servants slaying their masters in the night for their cruelties. It would be a pathetic death, and a boring one at that to die at the hands of those who serve you the most.
When Aethelstan opened the big doors, they saw their mother sitting at the head, quietly reading a book at the table. A spoon of egg dangled in her fork midway to her maw. She seemed to be deep in thought, transfixed by the novel in front of her. Aethelstan sat beside her, beginning at the toast and making their way through the rest of the plate.
When one piece was gone, they marched over the porcelain surface to the eggs, ripping the yolk from the albumen. When they were done with the egg and toast, they held down the sausage and sliced it in half, feeling the toughness of the meat as they cut through. When the main course was over, the servants brought over the desert - cream tarts topped with citrus zest.
Lady Hellenor ate quietly, eyes musing herself with her book still. Aethelstan watched their mother read, observing her facial features; every muscle was cold as stone, unflinching. That was something you noticed with mother, she always kept a stoicism when she read.
“Mother, what are you reading,” you peered at the cover, admiring the black leather surface and careful craftsmanship. The design was old and fastened with gothic spirals and judgmental spires. Men stood clustered in mimicking fashion, bowing before a figurehead at a pulpit.
“Ah, this - it is the latest story written by a young author. I wanted to give it a chance; the cover was so pretty,” she marked her spot and handed it to Aethelstan.
Upon closer inspection, Aethelstan also saw dragons near the bottom of the page, while angels fluttered at the top. The motifs of religion made you raise an eyebrow. With a chuckle, you gave it back to her, remarking, “Pretty, would make a perfect cover for my biography, don’t you agree?”
Your mother gave a look of skepticism. “Do you say this because of your birth, or the unholy nature of your mother’s choices?”
“Hmm, maybe both?”
She rolled her eyes and said, “Well, you won’t be writing any thing personal anytime soon. You know how I feel about others knowing the truth.”
She looked around the dinner room, empty and vacant save for the quiet noises of servants bustling outside the door. Aethelstan understood their mother’s fears, but it did nothing to quell the interests they had beyond the mansions. Yes, Aethelstan did leave from time to time, but those were rare.
“Aethel,” Lady Annmarie spoke, breaking them from their thoughts, “how have you been feeling lately?”
“Well, and you?”
“*Sigh*Better, my sleeplessness has been amended.”
“That’s good, but I must say, the halls have been quite noisy lately, no? Sometimes I wake to heavy footsteps. Are the servants up, is that it?”
Lady Hellenor stayed silent, mouth parted slightly. “Must be, I will ask Wight to look into it.” Mr. Wight was the housekeeper of your home. He was an older man, with strong body and mind, he has been a great tutor and assistant to your family.
“Weird, I thought they all went to bed at curfew.”
“They do, again, Wight will look into it. Nothing to worry about dear, or do the ghosts of House Hellenor scare you?”
“Me, scared? I think it’s me they should be scared of; I can take them back to the place they came from.”
Lady Annmarie smiled at that, “I assume Hell?”
“Mhm,” you said with mock pride, “straight back to the underworld. Hades can deal with them, not my problem.”
“Don’t you think you’re being a little mean? I’m sure him and his wife have a lot to deal with. Never hurt to give a helping hand.”
Both of you laughed together, your conversation continuing on. Lady Annmarie silently thanked the change in subject from that of the nightly noises. She would need to consult him on that; she knew it was him doing it, but why, she had no idea.
After a bit, your mother finally brought forth the more press matters.
“ . . . Yes, it seems the Lady Sylvia wants me to continue our families partnership. The Dimoche’s own many assets you know.”
“I do, you can’t go anywhere without seeing their name or crest on something.”
“Hm,” was all she said. Her finger tapped on the table, looking downwards, considering her families situation. Aethelstan leaned back and watched her.
“Are you going to see her? Was there an invitation to their manor?”
“Yes, I will. I don’t know how I feel about it though. I haven’t had one of these meeting in a while, and your father was the one who typically handled this.”
“You’ll be fine mother, rest assured, a Dimoche is no match for a Hellenor.”
Your mother grabbed your hand and squeezed it. Your mother’s hand had cuts, something you hadn’t noticed before.
“Thank you love, that helps. The Dimoches have never been cruel to either me or your father. Lord Gwen was a good man, and I can believe Lady Sylvia is the same.”
*Lady Sylvia*, thought Aethelstan. She was a tall woman, beautiful and well endowed. She had midnight hair and a cunning air about her, like she was always thinking one step ahead. It was to be expected, she was a noble, and many wanted the prestige and power of the Dimoches. Last time Aethelstan heard, the twins were not married and the same went for their three brothers. Aethel’s mind wandered over to the encounter with Nemo and the funeral. The Dimoches did not stray far from each other, staying to one corner of the reception, conversing with mourners as they came.
In your darkest times, keep your family close.
“Mother, will it just be you?”
Your mother sighed, knowing that you would bring this up eventually in the conversation. She stood up and gestured for you to follow her. Athelstan trailed behind their mother, passing by halls and casings of fine woodwork and expensive china. The Hellenor estate was not as big as others, it held age and housed a smaller family. Most of Aethelstan’s blood lived over the sea in another land. The Hellenors were all alone here, but mother promised to take Aethel to the shires she grew up in someday.
“Aethelstan, if you go, there are expectations and principals I expect from you to meet and follow. You’ve already left the premises a couple times, and no problems have arose from that, but we must still be careful. I have raised you to be a proper aristocrat, someone capable of handling themselves with their peers and one worthy of the Hellenor name. House Dimoche is bigger than us, Aethelstan, and renown. As for your secret, keep it hidden and don’t even dare to elude to it. I know you like your dark jests, but there are the superstitious type and the curious type; fear the latter more. They are the ones that will try to pry you apart to gain information.”
Aethelstan sped up their steps, matching with their mother. Lord Hellenor listened to Annmarie continue on, speaking of the obvious and lesser known. She expounded on the past of Hellenor and Dimoche. She told any background information that might be of use to Aethelstan, and finished with a simple, “Do you understand?”
“Yes mother. I understand fully.”
“Good,” she stopped and turned to you fully, “then we leave in a week.”
Notes:
How was it? Tell me your thoughts!
Chapter 3: Polite Meetings
Summary:
Aethelstan meets the children while Lady Hellenor sees to personal affairs.
Chapter Text
Dark nightmares have been plaguing Nemo, forcing through the frontier of his mind. A certain face, one morphed by shadows, stared him down each night, surrounded by red light. Nemo awakes again with dread and anxiety, praying that what he saw was no dark omen. Looking over, he saw both of his brothers fast asleep. He envied their peace and moved grab his glass of water. Taking a couple gulps, he lashed back down and coaxed his mind back to rest.
The next morning, he remained silent, eating without moving his eyes from his plate. He wasn’t the most talkative so others didn’t notice his silence. He looked over to his right hand, noticing the faint shaking. Nemo hid his hand under the table, hoping no one saw. He looked at his mother who droned on about familial matters and their classes for the day.
Carlos was bragging to Aida as usual, and as usual, he saw the disinterest in her eyes. Aisha looked away from the others, eyes focused on something else. He couldn’t see Sean from is seat, separated by Carlos.
“I have some good news, my children. We are going to have some guests over next week, the Lady Hellenor and her son.”
“Really,” said Carlos with a mouth full of food, “for what?” Nemo flinched at his loud voice.
“Business, I expect all of you to be proper gentleman and ladies during their stay. The Hellenors are business partners for House Dimoche, and control a great part of the gun and knife manufacturing.”
“Seriously?! That’s so cool! Do’ ya think they’ll give me some cool guns? I want the latest on the market.”
“Maybe they can get you new hunting rifles,” said Aida with a smirk.
“They better, if anyone needs one, it’s me.”
Sean patted his mouth and set his utensils down, “But you haven’t hunted brother? How will you know what to do with a gun?”
“Uhh, maybe someone can teach me. Mother can I have lessons?”
Lady Sylvia considered it for a moment and responded, “Maybe, if I can find one willing to teach you.”
Nemo thought Carlos was the last one at the table who needed any sort of weapon. If he got his hands on one, Nemo feared the worst - he could chase him around and torture him, he might even shoot him in the foot. He shook his head and listened in.
“When they get here, I want you to leave both Lady Hellenor and I to our business. She mentioned that her child would accompany her to this meeting. I want you to be respectful to them as well.”
“Mother, is it strange for a young lord to follow their parents to a business meeting,” asked Nemo. He had never really thought about it before. It wasn’t something that he did, or that his brothers did. Must be strange for one so young to be thrust into the adult world at such a young age.
“Ah, yes I discussed that with her. She wanted her daughter to come and along and build familiarity with us and make connections. She is an heir, so it would make sense. As for the meeting, she won’t be attending. Can’t imagine a child wanting to sit through such tedious affairs,” Sylvia said as she waved her had dismissively.
A daughter, thought Nemo. He hadn’t rubbed elbows with peers his age in a while, besides Aida and Aisha of course, and neither was going as hoped.
“Ohh, a daughter, is she pretty?”
“Does that matter, Carlos? In the end, she is technically a future business partner.”
“Sean is right. This is a matter of diplomacy between us and the them. Again, keep out of the way while I take care of things. If you need anything, Mr. Duncan will see to it.”
Sitting back, he tried to keep his mind calm, pushing last nights terrors away. Cramming the last of his food down his throat, he followed his siblings to their first lesson of the day. He looked behind himself, feeling a coldness pass through his body. Nemo shivered and held himself, praying that whatever chills he was getting weren’t an onset cold.
❧
Aisha sat against a cushioned chair, its ornate carvings flowed with her cascading hair. She looked to the high ceiling of the study room, considering the events that unfolded during breakfast. The Lady Hellenor was coming to discuss business matters. She hadn’t heard from father about who he worked with, but then again it wasn’t her concern.
The suspicious part of her wondered if they too were coming to steal what was owed to her and her kin. No, they were just another noble house going about their business, there was no need to be so paranoid.
Yet still . . . It was hard to remain calm when her father invited wolves into their house. Sylvia was her own problem, constantly breathing down her neck, and her sons were nuisances, each blisters in their own right. Nothing seemed right in the world for little Aisha, and the future held little light for her and her sister.
Setting her book down, she looked out her window the gloomy sky, the thick grey overhead only dampened her already sour mood. Perhaps the Hellenors would be some respite from all the chaos. No one could be as conniving and evil as Lady Sylvia and her ilk. Just then, she saw ravens fly over the mansion, soaring together as one before landing amongst the trees. Their bodies doted the green like speckles on a canvas.
She stared at them each, counting their numbers; there was seven to be exact. When she leaned in more, a black figure landed on the windowsill. It was another raven - that was eight - with its beady eyes glaring at Aisha. She rested her finger on the window, pointing at its dark form. It cawed at her, tapping the glass with its thick beak before leaping off and joining its brothers.
Aisha had read a book somewhere about how ravens were symbols of death and evil. The creatures brought little peace to those who came across them, and were accursed animals. Of course, those were just the spinning tales of poets and writers trying to prod a reaction from the reader. Aisha never felt unnerved by the beasts, merely intrigued by their strange ways. She swore once she saw them talking in the forest near the manor, croaking at each other before flying off.
Moving form her seat, she took her book with her and together they made their way to the archives of the Dimoche manor. While the grand estate held its own impressive athenaeum, it also had an archive nestled away. She never bothered to go there before, opting for the library instead to feed her lust for knowledge.
An archive would seem like an obvious choice, but it seldom held the fairytales she so wished to get lost in. Rounding a corner, she saw the brothers Sean and Nemo talking. The latter seemed worried, tension evident in his posture. The other, Sean, seemed far more relaxed, hand under his chin in thought. They talked for a bit before departing, Sean disappearing far beyond the hallway, and Nemo behind a closed door.
When they both disappeared, she made her way to the small doorway inconspicuously placed between two ferns. She took some keys from her pocket and searched for the one she was looking for, then inserting into the hole. A small click came and she slipped inside.
Once she was inside the room, she took in the dusty sight of abandoned, memorized thought. The room unlike the newer extensions of her home, were old with wooden walls and embroidered spider webs. The room was lined on each wall with shelves, each neatly labeled and categorized with great consideration. Her ancestors did this with regard for future acquisitions of knowledge that would come along as they became more aware.
In the middle of the room, passed the many shelves and lines of books, sat a round table with a few chairs. At the center of the table was an unused candle, standing ever vigilant, like a sentry without a king. She wandered over to it, and glanced at the books around her. She needed to find one on history, or was geography? She wasn’t sure, but she would find it as always.
Her pale fingers ran along the spines, dust collecting underneath. She brushed her hand down on her dress before she finally found something that might be a lead on what she sought. It was a book about the histories of different families in her country.
Each was alphabetized, the H’s were littered with names too obscure to her. Finally, she thought, as she saw the name Hellenor appear in the column of surnames. She flipped to the page number that beside it and began reading.
Most of it was uninteresting, much like the Dimoches, the Hellenors found an industry and started to conquer; they picked a game and proceeded to win. As for the Hellenors, they picked the gun industry, rivaling other big names and proving themselves with sleeker and robust models. At one point they introduced a new mechanism to the weapon that helped the reloading process. After that, they moved their sights to basic things like high-end gun powder and blades. What really stuck out to her was they even dipped their toes in swords and pole-arms. They were not new to the world of the medieval it would seem.
The section would go on to talk about their whereabouts after, but nothing about their origins beyond getting into the weapons industry. She shrugged and slid the book back into place. Leaving the room, she locked it behind her and left to find Aida.
❧
Aethelstan stood beside their mother, talking to Wight about their absence and the upkeep of the manor when they were gone. Aethelstan noticed a sudden change in mood with Mr. Wight, the once jolly man became cold as ice. He had air of iciness about him when he spoke with mother. Lady Hellenor didn’t look any better. Were they not looking forward to the meeting with the Dimoches?
Did Mr. Wight know them personally? He had mentioned before that he worked for a number of houses before settling with the Hellenors.
“Aethelstan, it’s time. Lets go.”
Both Aethelstan and Annmarie departed in their carriage, with Aethel looking back towards their home. It hadn’t been long before they were once again leaving their house, but this time it would be different. Now, they were getting to see the mansion of another family. This brought fear and excitement in the young lords heart. They imagined the differences of the Dimoche manner and their own. Probably bigger and grander, thought Aethelstan.
After hours of riding, both House Hellenor and their escorts saw the entrance to the manor grounds. They passed the gates and well-trimmed bushes. The groundskeeper must have been the finest, with the well kept area and the consideration to detail. Indeed, this was a place fit for proper class.
When they made their way to the front of the manor, Aethelstan made note of the sheer size of the house itself, and the amount of buildings on the grounds. They guessed those were for the servants and maintenance for the grounds.
“Aethelstan, when we arrive, you will be introduced to the Lady Sylvia’s children, and want you to set an example befitting of your station.”
“Yes mother,” you said, eyes admiring the courtyard.
When the Hellenors stepped out, they were met with multiple servants. Aethelstan was overwhelmed at first, this was more than they would have used at home.
“Lady Hellenor, I hope the ride treated you well,” came a smooth voice.
“All is well, Lady Dimoche, thank you.”
Mother turned to you and pushed you forward. You came face-to-face with Lady Sylvia, her figure like an imposing statue in the Vatican.
“Greetings Lady Dimoche, it is an honor to meet you. The prestige of the Dimoche is exalted in this fine estate,” you spoke gently with a curt bow.
She smiled at you, filled with sharp and silver canines.
“Thank you, young lady. Aethelstan, was it?”
“Yes,” you said with head lowered in respect.
“A fine name for a fine young girl. She has class, as I can see.”
Mother only grinned and her eyes crinkled. “Thank you, Lady Sylvia. Now, for the matters of business.”
“Ah yes,” she clapped her hands, “walk with me, will you. We have much to discuss.”
Both of you were escorted inside, surrounded by staff and led by the black swan that stood proudly ahead of you. None of the children were seen.
Aethelstan let their eyes and ears guide them through the new territory, picking up on the dainty steps of maids and the firm but gentle voice of a butler. They smelled the scent of freshly baked strawberry bread and hacked meat. Shouts from outside could be heard, both you and mother looked outside to see a wagon of wheat having toppled over.
When they were brought into a lavish room with tea and biscuits waiting, mother and Lady Sylvia sat down, while Aethelstan was ushered out and led by servants where the Dimoche children were. The man ahead of you explained that they were having tea in one of the sun rooms.
As Aethel followed the older gentleman, they observed the many corridors and stairs, getting lost in the over abundance of rooms and halls. It was all too much, Aethel speculated how a game of hide-and-seek would go. They would hate to be the seeker, lost in the maze of tapestries and exotic furnishings.
“Ah, here we are, my lady.” He bowed and opened the door for them, the light from inside was blinding at first.
The servant followed after, introducing you to the others. The Lady Aida perked her head at you, eyes laden with interest. Her sister was lost in her cup, face obscured by china. Carlos and Nemo joined Aida in their curiosity, while Sean was seen near the back, staring out the glass towards the hedges of roses beyond.
“Ah, yes, Lady Aethelstan! My name is Aida,” the pale-haired girl came to you with eager steps. She took your hands in hers, her faced was lit with amusement. From behind, another joined her, a small boy with locks as white as hers.
Aethelstan bowed and met the boy’s gaze.
“Hello, my name is Aethelstan,” you said.
“Hi, my name’s Nemo. We bumped into each other before didn’t we?”
“Oh right, my apologies, that was must unbecoming of me.”
“No, you’re fine, I should have been more careful.”
From behind, a taller boy, his hair more wild and long, came striding up.
“Really Nemo? Already making an impression on Ms. Hellenor? How stupid, but should have expected it from you of all people. My name’s Carlos.”
He spoke with a cocky grin and a quick hand raise, ready to meet their palm. Aethelstan stared for a moment, eyes flicking between him and his hand; he really was as arrogant as before.
“Charmed, my name is Aethelstan, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” You weren’t sure how much you meant that last part, but it was convincing enough, as Carlos swiftly took your hand and brought it to his lips. Aethelstan suppressed a frown and held a face of neutrality.
“Sean, don’t be so rude, come over and introduce yourself!” Aida looked back with hands beckoning him over.
Aida and Nemo moved aside as the black-haired teen made his way over. Aethelstan watched as he looked them up and down, almost as if he was sizing them up. The way he looked at Aethelstan was similar to how their instructor would look at them before going for the first move during training.
“Greetings, my name is Sean, it’s lovely to meet you.” He bowed deeply and arose with a small smile on his lips.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Sean. My name is Aethelstan of House Hellenor.”
Aethelstan curtsied, having chosen a dress for the occasion. The garment flowed with a poof as they bowed, fwooshing outward like the sea.
“May I call you Aethelstan,” asked Aida as she pushed past Carlos.
“Oh course, and may I call you Aida?”
“That would be most wonderful,” she said with hands raised in a small clap.
With all siblings having gone through their mostly formal greetings, Aethelstan almost forgot about Aisha. It would have been rude if she was forgotten. Aethel walked over and bowed with one hand behind and one over their heart, “Hello, Ms. Aisha, my name is Aethelstan Hellenor.”
“Aisha,” chided Aida, “how rude of you to make Aethelstan walk to you.”
“It’s quite fine, I don’t mind,” turning to Aisha as she stood up, bowing in return.
“It’s very nice to meet you Aethelstan. I hope Lady Syliva has been treating you well?”
Lady Syliva? Aethelstan thought to themselves. Why wouldn’t she?
“Yes, she was most kind. She gave me and my mother a tour of the mansion.” By tour, it was more like a boastful speech with walking added in.
“Ah, how wonderful. We were just having tea, would you like to join us?”
“It would be an honor to join the Dimoches in this afternoon’s tea.”
The next moments happened like a blur. The rest of the children joined the two nobles, cramming around the one table, making banter and chaos. Aida led the conversation, asking questions pointed at the only Hellenor at the table, while Carlos joined in. Aethelstan sat beside Nemo and made chit-chat. Turns out he was a painter and a good one at that, according to Sean. Carlos had quite the opposite to say, but Aethel guessed it came from the distaste he had for his younger sibling. Aisha stayed quiet, making small remarks here and there, adding her opinion to one topic and listening in on the next. Sean was like her in that way, only he had a look of amusement about him.
“Oh, Aethelstan, do you partake in any outdoor fun?”
“Aida, you might have to be more specific,” reminded Nemo as he munched on a macaron.
“Oh, well, I guess any sports? Do you do riding? It’s one of my favorite pastimes,” she said with a dreamy look about her, hands wrapped around a teacup.
“Hm, well, I guess I do practice with swords.”
The statement alone was enough to make the others react with shock and glee. Carlos’s questions on Hellenor weaponry had been thorough at best, but now it seemed more rounds were loaded and ready to be fired.
“Really,” said Nemo, “our mother never gave us fencing lessons.”
“Yeah, just literature and the arts,” said Carlos with an eye-roll.
❧
Aisha watched the scene fold out in front of her, watching with slight enjoyment at the scene. Poor Aethelstan, she probably was overwhelmed by all of this. She had seen the girl before, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Aisha was typically excellent at remembering names and faces, but now it seemed to elude her.
“Aethelstan,” she called, the other turned to her, eyes meeting her own.
“Hm?”
“Would you like to take a walk through the gardens?”
“Oh, I see why not, would you guys like to come as well,” she asked while turning to the rest of the Dimoche children.
“Uh, I guess, got nothing better to do,” Nemo replied.
“That’s an wonderful idea, Aisha,” giggled Aida.
“I concur,” added Sean, his gaze lingered on Aisha.
“It’s settled then, let’s go head out to the gardens!”
Aida led the way while the rest trailed behind her. Nemo was rambling about his latest sketch, a still life involving driftwood and a taxidermy duck. “Interesting, are you going for a more rugged feel to the composition? Like a lakeside cabin for a hunter?”
“Hm, I guess. I definitely wanted to try something more natural, so wood seemed pretty suitable. Especially since I wanted more of a challenge.”
“Wood would be a decent choice, it’s always diverse in shape since it comes straight from Mother Nature.”
“Do you get up to any hobbies? Since we’re on the topics of interests . . .” He trailed off.
“I do get up to embroidery from time to time.”
“That’s so lady-like of you,” Aida remarked.
Aethelstan wondered if they should just stick to a more lady-like presentation for each of them. They had chosen to wear a suite originally, but after some thinking they elected for a modest dress instead. It was newer, so that was what pushed the decision. Typically, they prefer suites for their comfortability and practicality. The feminine route didn’t bother them, whatever worked, but it would be what they had to stick with for essentially forever with whomever they were with.
“Well of course, a dainty pastime, for a dainty lady,” they responded, muscles flexing beneath silk fabric.
Aida laughed while Carlos watched her like a puppy. He must like her a lot, thought Aethelstan. It was nice knowing how close they were, something Aethelstan wasn’t privy to - the complex relationships of siblings.
Aisha walked behind the rest of the group, following right behind Sean who glanced at her form time to time. Aisha watched Aethelstan’s back, watching as light and shades of her dress changed as they passed windows. Her back filled out her dress, not necessarily from the volumes of textiles, but from her natural sinew and brawn.
Her mind started to wander. A dainty lady, thought Aisha, not with the body she has. She did mention fencing, so maybe that was it. With lingering eyes, she pulled her visage away and caught Sean’s obsidian ones. He looked at her and smirked, hands folded behind his back like a studious old man. She rolled her eyes and locked away in disinterest.
❧
When they got to the gardens, Aethelstan had to absorb the scene of wonder. It was bigger than any other they had seen; it was expansive and akin to natures tapestry. There were multiple pdaved walkways and bridges that led over streams. Staircases turned as they made their way downward. It was a mesmerizing sight, laden with flowers and buds they had never seen before. The birds passed overhead, disappearing into the woods beyond. A maze lay further away, tall in stature and thick with green. Unlike other excuses, this was a true hedge maze, one that they would get lost in. Was everything this intricate in the Dimoche house?
The youth found a more private area near a reflective pond, ducks swimming along the waters with a small dock sitting idle at the edge. Aida talked and Aethelstan listened; she talked on and on about gossip. She asked Aethelstan’s opinions on outfits, shopping and boys. The white-haired girl gestured for them sit. Meanwhile, the boys ran down to the edge of the pond. Sean took his time, shielding his eyes from the sun.
“Aethelstan,” Aida twirled around with a playful look, “what about boys?”
“What about boys,” retorted Aethelstan with inquiry.
“Oh, you know, do you have any young lords you are privy too?” She had a mischievous simper etched on her face.
No one in particular, thought Aethelstan. Due to their demonic situation, they had little time to spend with peers. But Aethelstan put some consideration to it, and there was no one. No man or woman made them feel that flutter in their heart, or swoon like a maiden.
“No, actually, no I don’t”
Aida pouted, folding her arms. The hill overlooked the boys wrestled down below. Or Carlos wrestled, while poor Nemo was forced to be the opponent. Sean watched on, always watching and judging.
Aisha sat a few feet away from them, picking at the grass around her. Aida had mentioned she was a bookworm, finding comfort amongst the words of fairytales, the opposite of Aethelstan. While she rode the backs of dragons over castle walls, in the mind of Aethelstan, they watched her soar high above from the saddle of a horse; Napoleon leading the charge, the enemy the Austrian Emperor, Francis I.
“Really? Not a single lord has caught your eye? You know, you’ll have to marry one one day. It’s the duty of all young lords and ladies.”
What if I don’t want to marry anyone,thought Aethel, what if I want to just live alone? That wouldn’t be a possibility for the young lord, as they had no siblings older or younger who could bear an heir in their stead. Mother would most likely need Aethelstan to fulfill that role. Mother had mentioned it a couple times, but that conversation never went far.
“It is, but it’s one I’m not for. I guess I haven’t found the one. What about you, Aida, anyone that’s caught your eyes?”
She folded her arms and leaned on her chin, her eyes scanned beyond to the young boys playing. Nemo finally managed to overpower Carlos, pushing him to the earth. Sean let out a laugh, watching the foolishness play out. There was yelling and another round started, this time, Sean was the target. He moved out of the way with ease, dodging Carlos’s dash with little effort.
“Well, there is one. But that’s a secret,” she looked at you with a finger over her lips.
“A secret? Could you give me a hint?” Who could have caught this young girls attention? She radiated light and beauty, Aethelstan was sure she had young lords lining up to have her hand in marriage.
“Nope, no one can know.”
She wasn’t going to budge easily. From below, Aethelstan heard Sean make a witty quip at Carlos, the boy gasping in anger before calling him a know-it-all rat.
“What if we make an exchange of secrets. I tell you a secret of mine, and you tell me your crush?”
“Hmm, tempting, but I won’t tell you my crush. However, how about another secret?”
“Go on,” Aethelstan said with piqued ears.
“You first,” Aida scooted closer and leaned in with her ear.
“You promise?” Aethelstan spoke with concern, as a secret was secret for a reason.
“Yes, I do,” she said with eagerness, “now tell me, tell me!” She spoke in hushed tones.
Aisha twisted grass and weeds together, looping them in knots. She went for wildflowers, plucking them from the ground and interweaving them together to make a crown. From afar, laughter caught her eyes. She saw Sean waving at her, a big grin on his face with Carlos nearby, butt in the air and face in the dirt. She suppressed a laugh at the idiot’s pose; he most likely deserved it, it was Carlos after all.
Looking back, she saw Aida sitting rather close to Aethelstan, murmuring something to the other girl. She tried to listen, but to no avail. Aisha considered joining but decided against it. Glancing at Aethel, she noticed the girl’s shoes, boots laced tight. They had a slight heel to them, and were black as night. Strange pairing with a deep purple dress, but the black didn’t necessarily clash too much.
“You know how I said earlier I like to embroider, well, sometimes I like to take skulls and bones and embroider them.”
“Eww, really!?”
“Shhhh,” hissed Aethelstan, “it’s helpful to get the picture accurate.”
“Hmph, that’s not a very good secret. Mine is better you know.”
“Well, it’s creepy and out of the ordinary,” they said with a shrug.
“Eh, I mean it’s gross, not creepy. What kind of lady does something like that anyway?”
“Me.”
“Eh, ok. Still, not as good as mine,” she teased.
“Go on then, tell me. I told you mine, now you tell me yours.”
While Aethelstan’s secret wasn’t too grave, it was still funny to see her face. Aethelstan didn’t use animal bones often, turning to books for reference. Once in a while though, they did go outside to find some bones. They weren’t always successful, but they did find stag sheddings once, and even a bird’s skull.
“Ok then, my secret is - I drew on Nemo’s painting this morning.”
“You drew on Nemo’s painting? Aida, that’s not a secret, that’s mean.”
She shrugged, “I was bored, and it’s not like he really cares. He never minds when it’s me.”
Aethelstan wasn’t expecting such a mean answer from such a seemingly innocent young girl. Drawing all over someone’s hard work and dedication? If someone were to destroy Aethel’s lace art or rip their embroidery, they would have gone after them with just as much distaste.
“Aida, you shouldn’t be messing with other people’s stuff. Nemo has teachers who have expectations for him. Art takes a long time, that I can assure you as someone who indulges in it.”
“But embroidery is different. All you do is stick a needle in and out and make a pretty picture.”
“Not just any picture, each threading is planned and calculated so the picture comes out concise and correct. Wouldn’t want it to be sloppy or weird. Listen, all I’m saying is to leave Nemo’s things alone. You wouldn’t want him to spill wine on your dress or rip your hats, right?”
“I would have them replaced with new ones,” she stated simply.
Aethelstan wanted to knock her on the head. Replace them with new ones? Did she not see the problem here? No, of course not, she was an aristocrat like themselves, one whose wealth afforded them anything they wanted.
“Aisha,” called Aethelstan.
Aida’s twin turned around to face them.
“Would you like it if someone destroyed one of your most favorite books? Perhaps they burned or scribbled over your writing?”
Aisha got up from her spot and walked over to both nobles, sitting on folded legs. She adjusted her dress and addressed both of them.
“No I wouldn’t, I would be quite upset. I might even try to avenge myself.”
“Avenge yourself?” Aida seemingly couldn’t fathom what vengeance was, face contorted in thought. Aethelstan wondered how many times this girl’s actions caught up to her; had she ever experienced a consequence before?
“Yes, I would even out the field. They shouldn’t have been touching my things in the first place, wouldn’t you agree Aethelstan?”
“Why yes, Aisha, I would. See, Aida, even your sister agrees with my argument here. It’s settled, we leave Nemo’s things alone. Try Carlos instead, he’d enjoy it,” Aethelstan spoke with a lopsided grin.
Aisha glanced back and smirked, “He would. In fact, why don’t we do something about that. Aethelstan, what do you think?”
“I say we play a little game,” they leered.
“Oh? Which game would that be?”
“‘Give Carlos a taste of his own medicine’. It’s fun, all we need is a few toads.”
Notes:
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Evelyn_Cove (Guest) on Chapter 1 Sun 07 Sep 2025 07:58PM UTC
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