The Princess and Her Whipping Boy

Lost and Gained

Author's Note: I couldn't help but add the song, because I think it fits Rosalina really well.

Cronan took a deep breath, as he stood nervously outside the stable. He wanted to steady himself before he went in to present his friend with the freedom papers. But even so, the moment he stepped through the entry and laid eyes upon the red haired man, his eyes brimmed over with tears.

Archer, born the illegitimate son of a Northern chief, stolen away from his homeland and brought back to his enemies shores. Archer, whose father had turned him back on him, denying his blood. Archer who had been partially crippled, who had been flogged and branded as a Runen slave, was standing in the dim light, rubbing down the patrol guards horses. Archer who had suffered and been humiliated in every way possible, was humming a merry tune and laughing as the horses nudged him playfully.

A sob burst from Cronan's lips and he raised a tightly clenched fist to childishly wipe at the streaming tears. Archer heard the sound, and was by his side in a flash.

"What did she say to you, Cronan?" he was demanding, his green eyes flashing with anger. "Did she hurt you? Let me look at you. Where did she hurt you?"

Cronan just shook his head as he leaned into the taller man's embrace. The strength and warmness of the arms that wrapped around him protectively, made him cry all the harder. If this was the love of a friend, than should not the love of a lover be all the stronger? How had he been so foolish all those years? How had he stayed pining for something beyond his reach, when the ones who loved him most were by his side? Archer had refused his freedom, his chance to find the girl he had loved, the chance to go back to his homeland, just to stay with his young friend. But what had Cronan ever done in return?

"I am sorry, Archer," he sobbed, his thin hands clutching tightly as his friend's tunic. "I am so sorry, for what we went through. We didn't deserve all this."

Archer pulled him closer. In his mind's eye, he could remember his little blonde brothers coming to him with their hurts. Perhaps he had missed them more than he had realised, even if they had been acknowledged by their father.

"No, Cronan," he whispered in reply. "We did not deserve this. We did nothing wrong. Nothing that happened in our life was our fault. No one deserves this."

Cronan suddenly pulled back, starling the older boy. For a moment they stared at each other. Then slowly, Cronan held something out to him.

"We are free, Archer. We are finally free."

Staring at him, almost in disbelief, Archer took the papers from his hand. He only needed a glance to know what treasure it contained. He sank slowly to the floor, burying his face into his arms. Kneeling down beside him, Cronan held him as he cried.

*          *          *          *          *

Back at the palace, Silas was standing alone outside of the Queen's bedroom. The maids had come to fetch him, wailing that the queen was in a frightful rage, and would either hurt herself or someone else. But even Silas was unwilling to enter as he heard a dull thud, shortly after followed by the sound of shattering glass. He went to turn away, when the sounds suddenly faded. An eerie silence gathered, dark and foreboding.

Swinging about, Silas threw open the door. His body froze in the doorway, as he saw Rosalina by the fireplace, her back to him. But he could see what she held in her hands. It was a log, the end glowing with small flickering flames. As if feeling his gaze, Rosalina turned about to face him. Her eyes were empty and glazed, sending a chill down the young prince's spine.

But he did not flinch or back away. Instead, his fear vanished, as a wave of desperate anger washed over him.

"Don't be a fool, Rosalina," he snapped at her. " Aren't you tired of all the dramatics?"

Rosalina's gaze dropped back to the log that still blazed away, the rising heat flushing her pale face. "A fool?" she whispered. "Perhaps I am a fool. A fool in a one-sided love."

Her words stabbed at Silas. She had no right to utter those words before him. Not when he too had been abandoned. But for him, it was through no fault of his own. It was this that made him speak spitefully to her. "Yes, you are a fool. Cronan was the best thing that ever happened to you. How does it feel now that you have lost him?"

"Empty," she whispered in reply. "As though he took my heart and soul with him."

Silas scoffed at her. "Don't lie. I know you found pleasure in hurting him. Love? Is that what you think love it? You do not even deserve to say that-" He was cut off, as something flew past his head to shatter against the door behind him. Staring at the ground, he saw the fragments of a painted vase that had once stood upon the mantle piece.

"Do not think I can not know the meaning of love or loyalty," screamed Rosalina, throwing another vase, which Silas easily sidestepped. "Do not think I have never felt such feelings before. Because I have. But they left me." She sank onto the bed, weeping. "They always leave me."

And Silas knew she spoke of her father and of Cronan. Suddenly he felt weary. Bending down, he began to slowly pick up the broken pieces of clay. He stared at a large piece and realised that it bore the scene of a dragon attacking Western ships at sea. Staring at the other pieces, he noted they were all of a similar nature. Dragons burning down cities. Men hunting monsters. Men pitted against men. Once again, Silas wondered at the Runen culture and how they glorified the ways of war. Runen truly is the land of the monsters, he mused to himself. How ironic that they teach the myths of old, and of how they drove the monsters from the land, when they in truth were far worse and more blood-thirsty than any of the so-called beasts.

He placed the pieces of clay upon the table and went to sit by Rosalina. Taking the half burned log from her hands, he tossed it carefully back into the dying fire. Turning back to her, he looked down at her, his gaze softening.

Rosalina stared down at her now empty hands. She could still feel the log's rough bark against her skin, although there was no longer anything there. It was how she felt inside. Empty, but with ghost-like feeling of something that had once been there for a time. She looked up at Silas, tears glimmering as they hung from her lashes.

"Hold me, Silas," she pleaded. "I need you. I need someone."

 For a moment, Silas stood in silence. Then slowly, he sank onto the bed beside her. He wrapped his arm about her and pulled her closer. Rosalina leaned into the embrace, resting her head against his shoulder. Neither spoke, as they say there in the silence, both thinking of all that had happened. Then suddenly, Rosalina tilted her head and looked up into her fiance's eyes.

"Silas," she whispered. "I won't raise any daughter in a Runen court. I only desire to bear a son and that is it."

Silas gave a faint smile. "I will respect your wish, my queen. If we should have a daughter, she will be raised in my father's court by Eastern traditions. And Rosalina, I do not wish that our son will be raised solely as a Runen. I know by law he must learn the Runen way, but I wish that our son can also embrace the Eastern traditions. So, when he takes home his Eastern bride, they may understand, and with God's blessing, love each other. May I be so bold as to wish for that?"

Rosalina blinked back tears as she nodded. "I wish that too, Silas." She rested back against him, but after a moment, a small smile played across her lips. "Our son," she murmured to herself, and the words slipped easily from her mouth.

Silas rested his head against hers. "Our son."

But little did Rosalina know, that the Eastern prince wept.