Trials of Gideon Book 1: The Cursed Blade

Chapter 4: All in the family (Lancaster Edition)

Of course it's us. I fall asleep with Oisin using me as a pillow. This is excellent because I love cuddles. We're in the corner of the tent, watching with fading hope as Hal decides to get up, get some more papers and lie down on the floor of the tent, with the papers spread out around him, clearly solving some sort of cypher in Courtenay's letter. I try to follow along but it's in french so I cannot and I give up and just watch. Which means I wind up passing out.
We are all woken up by Fastolf and the dog, the dog growls at him not to wake her sleeping master. Fastolf ignores said warning and proceeds to kick the crown prince in the middle of the back. Dog and boy leap on knight who is laughing by now, and a minor scuffle ensues.
"You were warned every time I find your royal arse out of bed you will get a firm kick in the arse because it is my sworn duty to prevent you from catching some horrible Welsh disease like you clearly want to and dying before you liberate Jerusalem or whatever else you're planning," Fastolf laughs, as the boy wrestles him. this is clearly entertaining to both of them and not the first time it has happened—IS THAT WHY THAT PSYCHOPATH ALWAYS KICKS ME TO WAKE ME UP??? Oh my god I didn't need another reason to kind of like him I'm having a bad enough time. Is that why though? It was their joke so when he sees me asleep on the floor he has to kick me?  That's almost sad? Fastolf clearly treated him like a little brother.
"One of these days I'll let the dog eat your head, and nobody will even ask why," Hal says, as the dog rolls them apart. It's a big dog, and it's very concerned about the rough housing.
"Ah, no, probably not," Fastolf stands up, pleased with himself.
"Where's Harry?" Hal asks, putting a hand through his hair, which now has dust in the dark curls. It's humid, and hot, so his cheeks are nearly flushed.
"Hungover."
"I said to cut him off!"
"Yeah, I tried, I was overruled by several people who said he deserves at least a bottle at night as reward for serving you," Fastolf says, though likely that was more like 'listening to you talk'.
"I'll destroy it all myself, god these men and their vices—why are you standing there? Do you need reminder of your morning chores?" Hal asks, going to get his shirt. The dog follows him, looking wary in case another scuffle might break out.
"Ah, I'm ah—leading up to something. Our scouts say that your father is nearly here, not three hours out," Fastolf says.
"WHAT?" Hal cries, "How—he was sixty miles away?"
"Don't be too happy."
"Shut up," Hal snarls, the usual level of poison seeping into his voice, eyes flashing. Yeah that's the Henry we know and hate.
Oisin is about to laugh. It's fair, I've never seen someone so upset to hear that back up is nearly there.
"And Hotspur is still not to the Abby, so, the king's forces will beat him," Fastolf says, well aware this is bad news. Oh he was sent to be the bearer of bad news. They all knew this would annoy the prince. That's hilarious he's got like two thousand people he's desperate.
"I have a plan—I will parlay with Hotspur I know him—my father has not once successfully negotiated anything," Hal snarls, incensed.
"That's true," I say, trying not to laugh, even though they can't hear us. It's—basically true. Negotiations are not Henry IV's strong suit, he's the one who alienated Hotspur to begin with.
"We have no hill and nowhere proper for bowlines, He will force a full on confrontation and Hotspur will have Welsh bowman from that bastard Glyndwr, my army will be wiped out, and I'll never catch Glyndwr, Hotspur will be killed in action and called a hero by his side we need to humiliate him," Hal groans.
"That's, he's right that's what happens," I tell Oisin, "Basically. He's also wounded in action. But yeah he's—correct."
"Well he is the King who takes France," Oisin concedes.
"To be clear single combat is not a great plan it's one entertaining to a Henry, but he's right his dad doesn't make situations better," I say.
"The king is nearly here. Thought you'd want to get ready," Fastolf says, shrugging.
"Are the men—,"
"Yes, I followed your standard orders," Fatsotlf says. So they have standard orders for encountering the King that's hilarious.
"Excellent, yes—put all those papers in that case, and those—damn this is why I wanted Harry here stupid man," Hal says, his eyes are glowing in rage.
"Yeah get all that out, we have discussed your father NOT wanting to be lectured on military bearing from his sixteen year old who can't shave independent of yes how clever you are constantly?" Fastolf says, obeying and helping pack up papers I'm just assuming that Hal isn't intended to have.
"Yes, quite, but I've a few more hours yet—god's blood I need to think," Hal snarls, angrily as he hastily dresses, "He should have been three days out, damn him. And he'll never listen—l only need that last one, there, that's the battle lines with his support, that I've drawn. This is a mess. He's not going to see things my way is he?"
"It's not your fault Mars smiled on you, boy. One day perhaps your father will see it," Fastolf says.
"But not today."
"No likely not. This one?"
"Yes, that one, the rest of that in that trunk, beneath a blanket just—there. Oh and put that sword beneath the cot, and put yours in my scabbard I like the weight of it, go find yourself a different one."
"Why are you taking my sword?" Fastolf asks.
"I've said the weight's better and my spare was broken," Hal, innocently, putting on a mail shirt.
"And why are you not using your own?" Fastolf asks, looking at the cursed sword.
"Personal reasons."
"My prince."
"Oh shut up he's unaware I have that and does not need to become aware. I'll wear it into battle but it's important not to distract him," Hal says.
"And I'm getting blamed if he finds out you do have it?" Fastolf asks, resigned, as he shoves the sword under the cot.
"Yes so it's in your best interest he does not? See? We work together, and we can accomplish anything now go wake Harry if I must be miserable so must he, and my father likes him," Hal says, taking Fastolf's sword. "I'll meet you at the trenches."
"And I'll bring your breakfast which you are eating."
"Yes excellent I won't execute you today, perhaps tomorrow."
"Yes we'll work on that tomorrow."
They both leave the tent, probably continuing to banter, as is clearly their custom.
"Well, that was easy," Oisin says, crossing to the bed.
"Yeah, there we go, probably too easy but," I say, helping lift the mattress.
Oisin pulls the sword over, carefully reading it.
"What does it say? I know that means curse," I say. I'm rotten at reading Latin, I know my incantations but I confess I've no mind for languages.
"Ah, it's cursed to summon ghosts from hell, can only be used by the rightful owner—ah that's why he has it," Oisin sighs, "If someone else picks it up, and tries to use it, it curses them. Simple and easy. It's probably got more on the blade but I'm not drawing it."
"So we can't steal it from him, then, otherwise we get cursed," I sigh, rocking back on my heels.
"Correct, damn the Templars," Oisin says, "He's never going to give it to us."
"Yeah, we've met him," I sigh, "That said he's highly motivated by money. We could offer to buy it."
"Except we have no money."
"Yeah well, we can get money. But he's not going to part with it right now anyway he's on the eve of battle," I say.
"Then we just steal it and make the Templars handle the curse," Oisin says, shrugging.
"No—wait, let's work smarter not harder—if he's got it now, theoretically he'll still have it in 1445, right?" I ask, "Or better yet—,"
"His son has it—yes."
"Yes, a much more easy to deal with person. We ask Henry VI, he'll give it to us for free, and the Templars didn't say WHEN we needed to get it," I say, "Even if he doesn't know where it is, or his father took it, then he might have record of ownership."
"Right, if it was in the Lancaster family, then he might know if where this Prince got it, or what the exact particulars of the curse are, or if there's a way around them. Agreed," Oisin says, more than happy not to deal with this particular Henry.
"Yeah, let's at least check our Windsor," I say, holding up my right hand with the Iron ring on it, "Back to 1445?"
"God yes," Oisin says, taking my hand.
The proper spell takes so much strength I'm spitting blood, but we're home. Or close to home anyway. Kneeling on the gravel drive of Windsor castle, a grey day here in rainy old England. But blessedly far from the heat and humidity of Shrewsberry.
Oisin rises first, offering me a hand, "This is straining on you. Bouncing around between times can't be our only option."
"No, but this is home, also it's better than dealing with Henry Rex," I say.
"Shh, yes," Oisin concedes. We try not to speak his name so he doesn't show up. I know that's not how it works but consider everything he's ever done to us.
This is our home time, so to speak, so we're fully expected here. Oisin removes the glamor and I drop the invisibility spell, much to my relief. I've been worn out from it, plus teleporting us here? Oisin is right, this is exhausting me. But it's a far preferable plan. Here we might at least get accurate information.
The guards at the gate stop us, but they have orders to let at least me in, and grudgingly follow said orders. We're escorted into a main hall, where we have to wait to ask for an audience with the king. At this point in time it's King Henry VI, yes another person in this narrative namely chapter named Henry. He's ruling as King of England now, it's 1445, so solid eight years before the war of the roses will kick off. Right now he's recently married to a princess of France, though at fifteen years old she has her own household and won't even reside at Windsor just yet. It's a political alliance and little more, though by now I'm pretty sure she's attached to our sixth Henry, for he's kind and nothing but a gentleman. He's twenty three, eight years her senior and still a young man attempting to maintain peace in his vast realm, from problems with french resistance, restless english nobles who aren't fond of their king's 'no murder no bloodshed, peace and kindness' policies.
Naturally he's one of my favorite people, see above about being kind to everyone. Yeah, we don't know how his warlike father got him, but we're glad to have him.
After a moment of deliberation like, almost definitely people arguing about telling the king we're here, we're escorted back to the private apartments.
King Henry VI is in his office, a quiet room sparse and simple, with his beloved books and few ornamentations. I've known him for the past thirteen years, since he was eleven, and I fifteen. Now he's a man, tall and lean, with soft gold hair, and gentle brown eyes. He's a solid five eleven with some of his father's famous height, and while by now he's reasonably athletic he's much more the scholar than the soldier. As always he is dressed simply in a pale shirt, no jewelry. To look at him you'd think him more a scholar than a King.
"Your Majesty," I say bowing deeply upon stepping in.
"Gideon, my dear friend," Henry smiles, coming from his desk where he was reading to tug me into a quick embrace, his expression melting into its usual warm smile.
"My king," I say, hugging him back.
"And Oisin, I did not know you were in London," Henry says, beckoning us to come and sit with him. His eyes are tired, though his smile doesn't fade as he checks our garments, quickly assessing us for injury. "All is well in Wales I trust?"
"Yes, this is a bit of a social call, we're on a different errand," I say, following him back to his desk.
"I'm glad to help, I've been reading correspondence from our French cousins all night, I confess I'm more than glad of a distraction," he says, going back to his chair. His left hand trembles but he immediately puts it on the desk, drumming his fingers.
"We're trying to see if you recognize a particular sword? Bit of a complicated thing to do with our Templar friends in which case likely the less you know the better, however," I say, shrugging.
"Yes of course," Henry nods, waving a hand to indicate he fully remembers our reasons for secrecy. He's one of the few non-wizards fully aware of the time travel, mostly because he's learned and principled enough to know that we can't affect the future or the past, or at least we should try not to. That's why we're here, he's on board with helping without massive explanations. Also, he's not going to try to benefit monetarily he'll do this because he wants to help.
"It's a weapon, we're meant to identify and find, because it's dangerous it's not supposed to be out," Oisin says.
"Dear Lord what did he do now?" Henry asks, immediately losing the will to live. He's talking about his father.
"I didn't say it was to do with your noble father," I wince.
"What. Did. He. Do?" Henry asks, massaging his face. See, his father is supposed to be dead. Long since. See, his father has not once played by rules he didn't write and then vastly amend. So far as the world is concerned, King Henry V died in battle against Aragon assassins in Wales. So far as reality, King Henry V and his permanent shadow are someplace being horrible in Europe working their ADD way towards Jerusalem, with Henry claiming he's himself returned as a Messiah figure. Which is like 80% effective because he's the one saying it and people tend to believe what comes out of his mouth. So he's having fun.
"Nothing recently, that I'm aware of, that you need to worry about," I say.
"Gideon."
"All right, yes of course he touched a cursed sword and he's not meant to have it, and we're meant to get it back, there," I say.
"God in heaven," Harry tips his head back, putting a hand to his face, "Is he—does he—when was this? What is it? Has he touched it?"
"Not so bad, yes of course his criminal english hands have touched it, no they aren't meant to, don't worry we're dealing with the situation, here I've sketched it now do you recognize it?" Oisin asks, he's picked up some paper and began sketching it, including the basic verbiage of the curse.
"From something he might have—carried about? Kept here when you were a kid?"
"For my mental sanity I'm actively distancing myself from my childhood and anything that may have happened," Henry says, pleasantly, taking the paper from Oisin.
"Thing is, if it's in your collection now, might we have it as it's cursed nobody else needs to touch it? If not, d'you remember when you may have last seen it?" I ask, fist in my mouth.
"And whose criminal English hands it was in?" Oisin, pleasantly.
"No, I'm sorry, it doesn't look familiar at all but I confess I look little at weapons. I probably would know my father's sword, but you know it as well; this isn't his usual weapon Courtenay may have carried it? I don't know, I apologize," Henry sighs.
"No matter, we thought it was worth a try, you're our favorite King of England," I say.
"Yeah, I have spoken to him as well good luck with that. Don't even know where he is, not that he's alive," Henry mutters. To be clear, the crown has not officially confirmed his father's continued, life. Thing, he's having going on. But they've also not denied. As a rule, Henry is acting neutral to surprised, and ready to entertain any visions or prophets of his beloved father, should they make their way to any of his territories. That said he knows damn well it's him and probably gets letters from his somewhat obsessive missing parent on at least a weekly basis.
"Yeah, no we're not that desperate," Oisin says.
"Nor am I, but he quite cleared out after his death and took many of his favorite weapons with him. Which is lovely as I didn't want any of them. I have been trying to catalogue what we do have and organize the files so that someone who isn't my father and Courtenay can read them," Henry says, like that alone is driving him mad.
"Ah," Oisin says.
"I can look, but I don't think I recognize this, why? Seriously I've had a terrible week I'd love a good mystery, what's it do?" Henry asks.
"Not actually all that good a mystery. It just said it only works for the owner, unleashes monsters on anyone who doesn't own it and tries to use it," Oisin says, "So, run of the mill destructive."
"And we don't want it laying about, pretty common to pick up a spare sword unthinking," Henry nods, shrugging a little.
"Yeah, it's basic detective work. We'll sort it out, just thought we'd go the easy route and ask you," I say.
"Sorry to disappoint, moral of my—month apparently," Henry says, rubbing his face tiredly.
"If you are in the mood for a good mystery, I've got this one for you, what do you make of that?" I ask, setting my own note paper on the table.
" 'Find us where the four saints meet, six apostles gather, behold the six that lie above the lion down below, find the seventh and I'll sleep no more.  Hands joined in rest below the sun, Where angels dance, there your heart lies'," Henry reads, frowning, "What is it?"
"Found it in Templar communication, looks like some sort of, riddle? They were trying to decode it, so I was for fun," I say.
"Why does this feel familiar?" Henry frowns.
"Okay, I think I know what it is, but I want to see if you think the same things or I'm going mad. Bit of fun," I say.
"Something feels off—like, I don't know. Hm, you were right, that is a clever one, doesn't the pacing feel odd?" He asks, tapping the paper with one hand.
I shrug.
"Yes fine, don't tell me your guess, I'll mull it over, I could use a distraction," he says, amused.
"What's been going on? Lately?" I ask.
"Beyond my mail?" Lifting a letter that's definitely from his father. "And six different wars I don't have the funds for; everyone wants to continue anyway and nobody wants to speak of peace? Spot of trouble in London, we were all very nearly at the Tower but Exeter conceded we could hide out here well enough. Margret's staying as well which is fine she's not really been here at Windsor, but we're a bit much, for me and I live here," Henry shrugs a little. As I said, he's quite nice to his new wife. It's customary to give her a separate household and residence till she's a bit more of age, as she's only fifteen at the moment and he's a solid twenty three. However, he's more than polite and kind, he's been throughly chaste, it's a political marriage and he'll be kind to her as he is to everyone. That said I think she took like three hours to get through wondering if he's really like this always and has since realized he's really like this always and pack bonded to him to protect him from everything. Those three hours happened at their actual wedding. I didn't want to go, I don't like crowds and such and told Henry so much and he looked directly at me and said "Neither do I" so yes I went and it was miserable most of us hated it really long and lots of people were there.
"What sort of spot of trouble? Anything you want me to look in on?" I ask.
"Yeah, we're due for a side quest, and you're helping us," Oisin says.
"We don't even want to be doing what we're doing to be honest, sooner be helping you," I say, shrugging.
"I do appreciate it, you're both dear friends. But I've got some really clever, technical people who frequently need activities, on this, so we're doing just lovely," Henry says, craning his neck to watch as his office door opens.
In trip two really clever, technical people. The Duke of Exeter's son, Henry Holland, and Jasper Tudor, half brother to the king. Together they might make a whole idiot. I love them obviously, they're both awesome balls of trouble, currently like twelve and thirteen or in there.
Jasper's dark red hair is standing on end, clearly recently messed up, and he's wearing no shoes. He trips backward into the room, quickly closing the door. Exeter is behind him, ice blond hair stained with blood, the boy is grinning maniacally and for no apparent reason is clutching both of Jasper's shoes.
"Boys, are you hiding from either of your fathers?" Henry asks, not even getting up.
"No, my lord," they both spin and bow quickly, then grin when they see me.
"Gideon, I didn't know you were in London!" Jasper says, cheerfully, he's clearly clutching a dagger of some sort.
"I just got here. Do I want to know what's going on?" I ask, gesturing vaguely.
"Definitely not!" Exeter bounces.
"So you two are—doing what you're meant to? And you're not hiding from either of your dads?" Henry asks, clearly amused. So Jasper is ten years younger than him, and Exeter about nine, so they're very much little brothers to him, but he's the mature one in any relationship. Jasper is his half brother, from his mother's extra martial relationship we as a nation wanted her to have given who her husband chooses to be. That said, this is really funny. So, Henry V, was incredibly, like chaste before marriage he acted like this was a sacrifice it was not he is more interested in small explosions than women any day. But point being he didn't have an affair unless you count invading France and was very very holier than thou about this. Anyway. Henry VI here has since moved in the Tudor boys and acted like they're his brothers, and like, everyone 100% assumes they were Henry V's bastards, and Henry VI does not realize that implication because he's sweet, but it is the natural conclusion, which is super funny to certain circles. Wales and Ireland. It's funny to us.
"We're not, hiding from the Duke of Exeter, we're, avoiding seeing him, till we've—done something else, at which point it's fine we see him," Jasper says.
Henry puts a hand to his face.
"What are you doing?" I ask, because he looks unwell.
"Deciding how much I care. It's not much," he says, biting his lip, then, to the boys, "Yeah, do that, carry on Jas. But you might want to duck under the table, because I hear the Duke's footsteps outside. And it's been a minute since he came to see if I'm alive."
The boys scurry and bolt under the nearest table, tugging the cloth in front of them. There's minor arguing to do with that.
The door opens and Exeter steps in, John Holland, second Duke of Exeter, not a bad guy but a Henry V enabling guy. He's constable of the tower and loves his work. But he's unflinchingly loyal to our Henry VI.
"Your Majesty," Exeter bows, eyes roving to me and Oisin quickly. He more than remembers the days when he was hunting both of us, so he's hardly fond of finding us in his King's chambers.
"Go on," Henry says, nodding and pointedly not looking at the table. Our Younger Exeter was something of a later in life child, so far as the Middle Ages go. Exeter has several illegitimate boys, but wound up eventually getting married and having a son and daughter, the son stays mostly with him here in London, his daughter and wife will go out to the country. He's not a bad parent and his son is more than a handful.  I think he's kind enough to the lad the boys are just currently up to mischief.
"I have no further updates, on the situation in London. It's best everyone remains here for the present," Exeter says.
"I'm sure everyone is doing their best. It's no matter so long as everyone stays safe," Henry says, nodding, "Don't trouble yourself too much. You never know. The problem could resolve. You know you should get Suffolk and my Beaufort uncle involved as well. And York he's usually bored."
"Very good," Exeter looks like he doesn't strictly want to do that.
"Go and brief them on your findings, see if they have any thoughts. If we all work together, we can accomplish much more," Henry says, leaning back in his chair. And that familial smirk haunts his lips. There he does look like his father's son. About that, Gideon, you ask. How on earth did the MeanestPersonAlive wind up getting this nice little youth pastor sort of person for a son? Well, you know, genetics and all else can do odd things. Especially in the days before paternity tests were invented when most of the people involved are Anglo-Saxon. We have no proof but we also have no DNA tests. So.
"Very good, your grace," Exeter bows again.
"Thank you," Henry says, tipping in his chair a little.
"What is going on in London?" Oisin asks, concerned.
"One minute," Henry raises a hand, "Boys, you can come out now, he's gone. And Harry you must give Jasper back his shoes don't tell me why you've taken them."
"I need them," younger Exeter giggles, scooting out from under the table, clearly chewing on one of the shoes.
"Thank you, Gideon are you staying?" Jasper asks.
"Not for long I'm on a bit of quest, but I'm also happy to be distracted what have you got going on?" I ask.
"Table, footsteps," Henry says, snapping his fingers.
The boys immediately hide again, almost like this is a frequent occurrence. Henry is trying not to smile.
"How many times a day does this happen?" I ask.
"Seven," he says, pleasantly.
The door is opened by a steward, and in walks Margret of Anjou. Queen Margret, immortalized in Shakespeare as an epic bitch. When in reality she's a fifteen year old girl sent to help make peace between countries, who by all accounts genuinely falls in love with her gentle, eventually sickly husband. She's strong, outspoken, brave, loyal, and headstrong, and just about anything else straight white male historians find displeasing in a woman. A warrior queen she'll lead troops into battle and save her King from captivity, more than once. She'll hole up at Harlech, in fact, among other castles, fighting for over ten years for her king and crown. She'll lose, sadly, but not after giving them hell.
Right now, she's fifteen years old, going on sixteen, with long gold hair mostly tied up. She's in a pretty red, if practical, dress with a high collar, one of our modest Henry's preferences for everyone's clothing. She's wearing simple jewelry, and looks the part of the queen despite her youth.
"My lord," she curtsies quickly, soft blue eyes roving over Oisin and I.
"I'm sorry, is it past four?" Henry asks, immediately rising. They were probably having tea together they do it's cute.
"No, it's only three," she says, smiling a little. Aw, she does like him. Well everyone does who has any common sense.
"Margret, you remember Gideon of Wales, and Oisin our friend from Ireland? They were at our wedding, I introduced you to them? No?" Henry says, quickly, nodding to Oisin and I who have stood and bowed to her.
"No, but you introduced me to a lot, of people. At the wedding," Margret says, understandingly, like he also introduced her to half his dogs and six beggars outside the chapel. As in he definitely did I was there. "I'm pleased to meet you again, my lords."
"Did you have need of something? You could have sent a message I—," Henry says, like embarrassed even though there are four other people in the room with them.
"Oh, no, I enjoyed the walk. I'm perfectly well. I'll see you at tea. Looking forward to talking about the book," Margret says, calmly, walking over to the table where the boys are hiding, "Just—needed to collect—something," she reaches under the table and drags Jasper out by the back of his shirt. Expertly, she snatches the dagger from his hands.
"I think I should have that," Jasper whimpers mostly audibly.
"Thank you, my lord," Margret says, acting like she didn't just do that, curtsying really quickly to Henry, before walking out. The boys bolt after her with no explanation.
The door closes.
"Oh, good. Margret's involved now," Henry says, with no enthusiasm, he puts his hands through his hair, "Well. As I said, lots of clever technical people are working on that."
As a reminder, Margret is just fifteen, Exeter's thirteen Jasper's twelve, they're all like a pack of siblings, at this point and will remain so for the rest of their lives. They're her little brothers, basically. And she needs friends in the English court and they're loyal to her husband. Also she's got limited people closer to her age to talk to, so there's a bit of bonding there as well. And Henry will have already charged them with protecting her so that enabled them to bond, and form a brute squad that will spend the rest of their lives protecting him.
"What is the problem?" Oisin asks, shaking his head.
"Oh um—London. Right. A single rogue sorcerer broke into one of our London properties, nothing was stolen. I'm not concerned. But it's a threat to our security and naturally I was concerned for Margret being frightened so I had her and everyone brought here," Henry says.
"She doesn't look frightened," I say.
"Yes, I noticed," Henry says, dryly, "Anyway, everyone in my corner has been rather jumpy so they've all been given the job, a bit individually, as they're that dedicated, to find who it was, and bring them before me. As they're all so convinced it's an attempt on my life. And Jasper and young Harry needed some occupation and so I thought it wouldn't hurt to give them the task as well. And now it appears Margret is involved. But. So long as they're all happy, it'll do them good to feel useful. If any of them actually find anything they are to bring the person to me, so we can help this poor soul who was so lost as to break into a royal property in the night. Likely it's some poor citizen in need of money in which case we'll help them."
"Yeah, that's a good activity for everyone," I say, nodding.
"Yes, I thought so. They're all enjoying it. I was concerned for a while about Margret meeting my, family, but, she seems fine, With the ones she's been exposed to, so far," Henry says, frowning.
"Ah, give her some credit. She likes you, and she's displaced into a new country she wants a family too," I say.
"Yes, but this family?" Henry asks.
"She's fine," Oisin says, amused.
"I've met my family and I'm not fine," Henry says, bemused.
"She's fifteen, do you remember being fifteen? Wanting to laugh with your brothers? She surely misses home, and having things to do, she's got a whole new job to learn. Let her figure it out a bit, she will, she's tough," I say.
"I don't remember being fifteen, I don't remember being anything but this sometimes. What were you doing at fifteen, Gideon?" Henry asks, massaging his temples.
"Being a ghost chased around a big castle, by someone tall not used to disappointment, and being befriended by the kindest prince anyone could ever want," I say, smiling.
"I remember that Christmas," Henry smiles actually, "I was so scared I prayed the whole time my father was away. Every time, I was sure he wasn't coming back."
"Now look at us."
"Yeah, he'd better not come back," Henry says. We all three laugh. "No, seriously though," Henry wipes his face, "I don't suppose I do remember, or know what it would be like I was born in this castle. I don't have to leave. I've no desire for campaign. Oisin where were you when you were fifteen?"
"In my father's Fianna, which was quite exciting," Oisin says, shrugging, "I didn't know anything else."
"Suppose none of us do in the end. Well, as you said. They're all having fun," Henry says, shrugging.
"And if you want more people involved in that?" I offer.
"No, you seem to have plenty of quests on your own and we've got loads of clever people working on this," Henry says, amused. He's giving them all an activity while he gets work done.
"We won't keep you from your tea," I say, standing.
"But I've been no help," Henry sighs.
"We can go back to Plan A," Oisin says, shrugging, "We just would rather not as it's more dangerous."
"Well, hold off if you can. If you think this was owned by my family, then it's somewhere in the records. There's not a valuable item in this castle that wasn't at one point put up for loan, and if he or my grandfather had it, then they'd have catalogued it likely somewhere," Henry says.
"You're plenty busy, don't trouble yourself," I say.
"Yeah we were more hoping you'd actually have it," Oisin says.
"Oh it's no trouble at all I've got a lot of really energetic people here who need things to do very often —-TUDOR I heard you out there come in," Henry calls.
"My lord," Owen Tudor comes in, bowing, and glaring at me. No, he doesn't hate me really just on principal. He was involved in the ghost chasing around the castle experience. White blonde hair, and pale eyes, he looks like he's had another break down since I last saw him but otherwise grand.
"Are you busy?" Henry asks.
"I was looking for Jasper because I haven't seen him in about forty five minutes and it's quiet," Owen says, resigned to his new side quest.
"Excellent. I've got a task for you, never mind about Jasper—," Henry says.
There's obvious scuffling and a couple of cries from outside the window. One voice was definitely Jasper's because I heard cursing in Welsh.
"That's childhood happening," Henry says, calmly, "Here. I need you to search the files for any mention of this item. Those two sets there should be a good start."
"My lord," Owen says, glaring daggers at me, well aware I'm the origin of the side quest.
"We won't keep you," I bow.
"Come back again soon, old friend, perhaps I'll have news," Henry says, embracing me quickly, "Get something from the kitchen on your way out."
We take him up on that, slipping down to the kitchens. Oisin is as ever amused at how well I know my way around Windsor. They know me here, at this point, so the kitchen staff provide us both with eel pies. We take those outside to the garden, where we can talk more freely about our next move.
"It's back to 1403, isn't it?" Oisin asks, tiredly.
"We've got no leads here. At the moment, all we know is Henry had it in 1403, and in 1403 he's going to be embroiled in a battle," I say.
"Where he might lose the sword, someone else pick it up, and unleash a hoard of demons," Oisin nods, staring off at the trees.
"A battle in which he's wounded in action," I say.
"Meaning he's treated, meaning anyone could try to pick it up," Oisin sighs.
"Name of the game right now is to go and make sure the curse isn't unleashed. He's got no idea how badly he's about to be hurt. Anyone could pick up the sword from him, namely his father who he's hiding it from," I say.
"Or Fastolf to defend him on the field, or his idiot friend that young guy—,"
"Scrope, but they're calling him Harry," I say.
"Too many damn Henries, yes. No, I agree, right now we might as well just make sure it doesn't fall into the wrong hands while we figure out how to get it to him," Oisin says, putting a hand on my shoulder, "And limit the bouncing around. We don't need you worn out."
"No. I know. After we eat I'll feel better, we'll go back," I say.
"Yeah, it's a mess," he says.
"Well, theoretically the sword isn't here, because we've done our job," I say.
"And get it from him in 1403, right?"
"I wonder if I could do a trace see how he got it?" I frown.
"Wouldn't tell us anything," Oisin says.
"No, I suppose not, we know he has it now. All right, yeah, let's head back, we don't need to miss Shrewsberry. And until the sword is contained we need to watch it," I say, "Then, I don't know—hope he gets randomly more agreeable and agrees to sell it?"
"Yes, which he might do after the battle, but he won't before," Oisin says, standing up.
"Yeah, time to go witness Shrewsberry," I say.
"It's fine you can bounce."
"I like battles, okay? I realize it's a blood bath but come on, this is going to be epic," I sigh, happily.
"Glad you're smiling," Oisin says, poking my cheek with one finger.
"What? Have I not been?" I ask, though I know full well I haven't.
"You've been pensive. Also, the Templar girl said she found you at Westminster, you only go there to think," Oisin probes, gently.
"Just," I shrug a little bit. I'm not sure how to put it into words. "You know it's—sort of my birthday. Because we don't know when I was born. Like. And—this feels stupid to say to you I know your life."
"Go on," Oisin says, nodding.
"I didn't think I'd live to be twenty eight years old. So I never, planned on it. And I love my life, I love the kids, being back here, where I suppose I belong, and quests like we're on, I live for that," I say.
"But?"
"Am I going to get to live another twenty eight years? And now, every day, there's more people counting on me, not to die, to leave things all right when I die. I feel like I've done so much, and yet not enough. I just don't—it's—I don't know it's just weird, like I said it doesn't make sense when you say it out," I say.
"It's survival. When you spend too long, thinking only about making it to the next day, it is weird when years have added up," Oisin says, looping his arm around my shoulders, "That is okay. It isn't bad, and you're not doing anything wrong or different just because you're a year older, or several years older since you last noticed. You said you're happy, then good. That is the point of these lives we lead, however long we get."
"It is, isn't it?" I ask.
"Yes. When I was with my mother, I didn't know how long until the bad people found us. I didn't know my father was coming, so for the first few years, after he got me. I had no idea what I was supposed to do, now that each new day is a given. I still don't sometimes. Everyone else, they never had to go there, where life wasn't promised out for them," he says.
"When I was little, I was—because of the autism doctors told me and my parents, time and again, that I wasn't going to ever live alone, or hold down a job, or anything like that. And it wasn't just doctors, anything I read, same thing. Tantrums, late to talk, fixated interests, all that meant low functioning, and not going to have a life. So I just figured I was here for a good time, not a long time," I say, "That's why, and I know you hate him in so many ways so do I, that's why I studied Henry V so much, cause he burned till he burned out and didn't give a damn what anybody said about stop or slow down or don't or no man has done that before I wanted that courage, to live the life I want, in spite of everything the world has to say."
"And you have it. You have two beautiful children, three counting Lowri who you help care for, you've got friends who love and care about you, in multiple countries, and times, and plenty of adventures, to fill up however many years you've got left, eh? We'll make them great," Oisin says, squeezing my shoulders.
"And I've got you," I say, tipping my head against his.
"Come here. You're doing just fine," Oisin kisses my cheek swiftly then hugs me with both arms, "We would not want our Gideon any different. You are a wonder. And we quite like you this way."
"I quite like you too," I say, hugging him back, pressing my face into his shoulder.
"Good you'd better," he smiles playfully then, tugging on my hair.
We both start at the sound of general commotion from a few hedges away. This is Windsor, so not overly uncommon. However.
"Should we look?" Oisin asks.
I shrug, going to look. He follows me.
Beyond the hedge, there's the general sounds of a kidnapping. Jasper Tudor and Henry Holland are at either end of a large trunk, which is jostling and making generic kidnapping victim noises. Margret and two ladies in waiting are supervising this experience, Margret holding the black dagger that she rescued from Jasper earlier. All look as though they have clearly recently been in a scuffle of some sort. Edmund Tudor, Jasper's older brother, is unruffled and arguing with them.
"What is in there?" Edmund asks, pointing at the trunk.
"Oh nothing!" Henry Holland chirps, grinning cheerfully.
"It's a need to know basis, Ed, you don't need to know, you need to help us push," Jasper growls.
"Is there a person in there?" Edmund asks.
"As your queen I'm ordering you to push, or perhaps pull—and then forget this entire thing ever happened," Margret says, haughtily.
"Can I not know why?" Edmund asks.
"NO!" All of them, at once.
I look over at Oisin, as we duck back behind the hedge. He looks at me, raising an eyebrow.
"So we agree that's childhood happening and we're not gonna worry about it?" I ask.
Oisin nods, "Definitely childhood happening."