What We Are || Sansa Stark & Lillian Gray

[Lillian Gray]

[fieldbox="Alexander Blackwood; The Last Good Man, #166b22, solid, 10"]With the force of her slap, Alexander had been snapped out of attention and into a daze. Without his head screwed on straight, he almost thought about retaliating. His hand tingled with the reaction he hadn't fulfilled, grateful his mind gave two more seconds of thought before he so much as dared to lay a hand on his beloved wife. He shivered. How dare I even think to raise a hand against her, something so innocent and sweet as she is.

"How can you not be bothered by that, Jocelyn?" Alexander whirled in a rage, pulling his hands from her chest and shying away from her soft touch. "How can you not be angry that they only look to hurt you? Your spirit may not be broken, but that only gives them a reason to try harder."

Arthur stepped forward to try to yank Jocelyn away from Alexander, seeing that the hate hadn't entirely died out of his eyes. The young girl would not allow his hands to brush against her, pushing free from the guard with every attempt. Her will was strong. Jocelyn wasn't some infant slave any longer. The lion's den had become her home, and she had evolved from a mere piece of meat to a proud lioness. He saw it in her eyes then.

She's been growing before my eyes this whole time, and I have been too blind to see it. Even so...

"I do not want you to break before my eyes, you're as pale as porcelain and I feel you would shatter if let you go for an instant." Alexander reached for her hands again and placed them on his chest, but for a different purpose than to feel his heart. "My lungs, they're free of the webs which have cursed yours, and if you're too scared and I'm not there to give you ephedra, or find you pure air to breathe, the world will suffocate you, swallow you whole. You've been hidden from me for so long, treated like dirt, worse than that, and even with a title to your name and a husband who wears a crown, you are still not safe. Not unless I'm standing directly at your side to hold you in my arms. Don't you see it? Don't you see why I'm angry?"

Alexander gripped her hands, dropping to his knees on the brink of tears. He let go of her fragile and tiny hands for a second so that he could wrap his arms around her slender waist. For she was only one, small, girl in a world of giants and beasts. Her armor, though thick and battle hardened, was only just leather compared to the gold and bronze of the betters above her. She was no ready for the harsh world she'd been dragged into, even if she was a proud lion or a starry eyed savior.

The world is a terrible, horrible place.

"Jocelyn, I'm angry because my brother dares to think he can treat you this way, and I was unable to stop him. I'm angry because it's who I am, who he has taught me to be. Above all, I'm scared. I do not want to lose what is most precious to me in this world, because she stands before me with bruises in her eyes and I cannot tell if it is pride or a mask she shows me. Are you real? Can you truly be so strong already?" Alexander smiled once, confused and bewildered. His eyes glittered with unshed tears. He didn't know what to say to her. "Jocelyn McDowell, Jocelyn Blackwood, you are my wife. I do not want to see the world tear you down after placing you at my side."

He pressed his head to her stomach and pulled hard against her back, joining them in a tight embrace. She was so light, so soft even beneath his hard grip.

"I love you." He whispered. "And I could never bear to see you so taunted again. There was nothing I did to save you, and for that I am sorry. Forgive me, and take my love. I would give it to you all, now and forever."[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox=Jocelyn Blackwood; The Powerful Princess, #71a9c7, solid, 0, georgia]Alexander, sweet Alexander, how innocent and good-natured he was, how oblivious to the true horrors of the world. Jocelyn was no fool, nor had she ever been. She had known since the prince chose her from the king's lineup what being his wife would mean, the dangers and trials it would drag her through, the great target she would become. Anyone in the living world who supported the system and despised the slaves would throw their judgments and hatred right between her eyes, and hope the bullet was enough to kill. This was what she had always known. Did he expect it to be different?

But that was a conversation for another time, another place. Another world, perhaps. She could only giggle and allow the love he'd professed to swell in the core of her spirit, hands slipping into his curls to soothe his head in a calm massage. Jocelyn bit her lip and, after a few silent moments, slid to her knees as well so she could cup his face in her hands and meet the oceans of his eyes.

"I know," she began with a warm, sad smile. "I know what I am to them, and I know what you are as well. Does any of that matter? Since I came into this world with the condition I've got, I knew my days were numbered. I thought I'd die my first few weeks in Dale, and I should've, but I didn't. I thought I'd die the year after that, but I didn't, nor the year after that, or the next one. I survived somehow under the Overseers then as I did under Victor Harper just now. And I'm with you, darling, and I'm still here." Jocelyn curled his hair behind his ears in a maternal gesture, affectionate and full of comfort.

Oh, how she loved him still.

"There's nothing you could have done, but if I know politics like you've so graciously taught me this past month, I know that there'll have to be an answer for it. All those high lords and ladies, kings and queens and presidents and whatnot, they saw that. They witnessed what the king is capable of and what position we're in. I can't believe that all of them would abandon us to that sort of fate, do you? Hm?" She pressed her lips to his forehead and pulled him in, cradling his head as her lover rested against her chest. The beat of her loving heart, the sound of her ragged breathing, he could hear it all and she knew he would cherish it.

"I won't forgive you when you did nothin' wrong. Those are your brother's sins. Tonight we know we have friends in the Nisqually people, yeah? And the others who protested? But I don't care about any of that, not right now, not in this moment. I couldn't care even if I was ordered to." She kissed the crown of his head and lifted him so he might meet her tender gaze.

"You've just admitted that you love me, Alexander, and there is no other thought in the world I'd rather think about than that. And since I love you too, more than my heart can possibly bear all at once, love me and be done with what happened tonight. Love me because I'm here, because I love you so much and because there is nothing better in the world than this. Than us."

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she focused her eyes through Alexander's, into the depths of his wounded soul.

"Say it again, my love. Say it and prove it, and know that nothing can hurt me so long as it's true. Will that be enough?"[/fieldbox]

 

[Lillian Gray]

[fieldbox="Alexander Blackwood; The Last Good Man, #166b22, solid, 10"]The two blue ocean eyes crashed together. Two waters which never should have met under the standard rules of society and the natural hierarchy set in place by the noble class. Where Jocelyn's waters were warm and calm, Alexander's was cool, frigid, and full of calamitous waves which threatened to break the peace between the two in the peak of his anger. Yet, she melted him. She soothed the tempered sea and dispersed his fears with a single touch of her hand, a single look into his eyes.

"I do love you." Alexander repeated. "I will say it as many times as you wish, sing ballads, write poetry if I have to." He chuckled at his small attempt of lightening the air.

"Jocelyn. I wish the world would see you as I do. Not as a slave, a young bride, even as a young woman. All of those things are titles given to you by standards which are far too high for anyone to uphold." Alexander stroked his hands through her hair. It was still damp, a strange salve mixed in with her chocolate colored curls. There was blood there, too, from the wounds inflicted by the other guests from the evening event. He brushed past the wound in a soothing gesture of his adoration for his one and only love. "I want them to see you as a pure, and kind hearted human being. You deserve that more than anything. If anything, that should come first. I wish everyone could see the goodness you have in your heart."

The Prince pulled his wife into his chest, embracing her with one hand combing through her tangled curls, the other tracing the line of her spine with a flat hand. Now, they were alone in the floor they called their home, their companions having left at the sight of the intimate couples pleas to one another. Alone, however, they were not. Enveloped in the other's embrace, husband and wife had every small need fulfilled. Being close to each other there was no possible way to be alone.

"I love you. I will always love you." Alexander murmured into her hair.

He slipped his hold from her back to pick up Jocelyn in his arms. Cautiously, he walked them back to their shared bedroom and laid her down with the utmost of care. Alexander laid down beside her and pulled Jocelyn back into his arms. Being away from her for too long simply wasn't an option.

"Now rest, please, for my sake." Alexander sighed. "I promise to be here the whole time."[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox=Jocelyn Blackwood; The Powerful Princess, #71a9c7, solid, 0, georgia]It was amazing and inspiring to Jocelyn, how a man wounded so deeply by his brother's hatred could set aside his rage and focus on the woman he'd surrendered to. She was eternally grateful to have married a man as complex and wonderful as Alexander. Their bodies were bound to each other by law, their hearts by mere obligation, yet now their souls were attached for eternity by the sacrament of an undying love. No amount of abuse or mistreatment from King William could change that. The princess curled up in her husband's embrace as he lay her atop the comfort of their feather bed, wrapped in each other's protective arms, certain that nothing could harm the other person so long as they were there.

Time passed quickly and Jocelyn lay awake, restless, so she propped herself up to look upon the face of her lover. One hand caressed his stubbled cheek with immense and gentle affection, the prince's hand rising to place itself over hers. Jocelyn smiled at the contact and thought, not for the first time, of the torrential seas that would be parted by their union, of the castes and governments that would fall to their knees in the presence of a slave's love.

"I will move mountains with you," she promised with a kiss, "and I know we'll bring the peace of legends. Together. You have all my devotion, and I am yours."

Alexander, seemingly moved to the core by her words, pulled the princess in for another meeting of the lips. It had never occurred to Jocelyn that her husband hadn't a single living memory by which to define the purity of true love, but she would give him one. She would give him hundreds, thousands. All exhaustion was lost from thought or concern. The heat of desire swelled between them with an irresistible pulse, one that neither spouse could refuse. Sure hands pulled swiftly at bits of clothing here and there, bodies determined to unite under the dome of what this new love could be. Skin met skin in a firework of touches, confessions of "I love you" recited like a prayer, and it felt as though their bodies were doused in fuel and lit aflame with the spark of some holy passion. Their worship had begun. Their lovemaking was serene and sweet-tempered, never rushed, never broken by the lustful desires of the flesh. It was a dance of souls more than anything. A physical manifestation of all it meant to discover what the divine intended for intimacy.

When the end of their amorous ardor came upon them, Jocelyn once again buried herself in the security of Alexander's embrace. Husband and wife fell quickly asleep in each other's arms and dreamed of nothing but peace through the remainder of the night.[/fieldbox]

FEBRUUM 23, YEAR 2418 CE
​

[fieldbox=Ser Arthur Desmond; The Formal Friend, silver, solid, 0, courier new]The morning sun rose, and so too did Arthur Desmond. Princess Jocelyn's attack the night prior had refused to exit his mind, leaving him ridden with sleeplessness and an anger that would not settle beneath his skin. Alexander had been his ward and the subject of his protection for many years. Now that Jocelyn was his bride, Arthur obeyed the knight's code of honor to guard her with his life just as equally as he would the prince. But his assistance was next to useless at the terrible gala, so convinced was he that William would behave himself in the presence of his peers. How foolish he was. The guilt weighed heavily on broad dark shoulders and the courageous soldier forced out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sat at the edge of his bed in distress.

I could have prevented all that chaos if I'd been paying more attention. I hope Alexander can forgive me.

After slaving to his typical ritualistic routine, Arthur left his humble quarters and stepped out into the main foyer of the prince's personal floor. He executed his morning stretches and made sure all his weapons were loaded, slipping them into their holsters, eyes alert and prepared for a potential retaliation. The king hadn't gotten what he wanted the night prior. He had only succeeded in humiliating Jocelyn where he certainly sought to break her. Though, William did not know her as Alexander had grown to. As he had grown to. She was a strong woman now, a woman who had survived Overseers and a life of misery, a woman of steel that had once been crafted of sheep's wool. The unwanted advances of a king was surely not enough to crush the spirit of one so used to having its bones broken.

As Arthur sat on the main sofa and sipped at his tea, waiting for the prince and princess to stir from their slumber, he was alarmed suddenly as young Hannah Sweden rushed frantically into the room. "Arthur," she panted, "I tried to stop him, I did, I really--"

"Arthur Desmond?" The thick Palladian accent came forth before the knight was on his feet, an elderly man having invited himself into the prince's personal quarters. "Forgive my intrusion. I seek an urgent audience with His Royal Highness."

"President Lauridson?" Arthur's hand remained rested on the gun at his side, suspicions raised in an instant, though he allowed himself to bow slightly out of respect. "This is Prince Alexander's personal floor, sir. You can't be here. I will escort you out."

"You mustn't. Not if you want your prince and princess to live." The president raised his hands to show that he was weaponless, a grim expression on the deep lines of a dark face. "Believe me, I have risked much to come here so openly and so early. You have to listen to me, your prince must listen. I have important information for His Royal Highness. It concerns King Frederick and Queen Esmeralda."

"The king and queen? They died in an airship crash, Mr. President. What about them?"

"I'll speak to Prince Alexander about it, miss. His mother was my student you see, I was a tutor before I was elected. She was very dear to me. I taught her all she needed to know of Farlienne before she came here to marry the king. It is for the love I still bear for her generous spirit that I risked my country to come here now, to spill the secrets of what I know. I'll risk it for her son. For her memory. For the safety of us all. Please, wake him and his young bride," he spoke with a hastened tone, "though perhaps you should turn on the news first."

"Why?" Arthur reluctantly removed his hand from his weapon, able to trust the foreign dignitary though still confused as to the point of his confidential arrival. "What are you talking about?"

"Here. Perhaps it is better to show you." The president crossed the extravagant foyer and picked up the television remote, pressing the power button.

Utter massacre met their eyes.

"I'm standing here in the center of Dale where the riots have become chaotic and completely uncontrollable," shouted the reporter above the screams and shouts of protesters in the background. "When news reached this place of the attack on Princess Jocelyn last night at the Regional Gala, the slaves exploded into fights and rebellions that have ended in nothing but bloodshed. At least fifty-three of the slaves and Overseers alike have been slain in the crossfire and the battle is still ongoing. The demands? A common chant, saying "Justice for Jocelyn." No word yet on when production here is set to continue."

"Dear God," murmured Arthur, covering his mouth in horror as the camera panned over a sea of bullet-ridden bodies bathed in red.

"Furthermore, we're told that the release of press photos of the princess being carried out of the Gala by the Nisqually Chieftess are everywhere, along with a video clip of their escape. Let's take a look."

The sight on-screen changed to a low-resolution camera filming Kaniehtiio with Jocelyn in her arms, a look of rage in her caramel face. "Chieftess!" called one of the journalists. "Chieftess, princess! What ha--"

"Your king is monster!" cried the indignant tribal woman. "In front of us all, he try to rape princess and little one. His Victor friend too. Nisqually do not keep contract with monsters. Nisqually renounce treaty for peace and will sign again when Alexander is king!"

The screen flashed back to the reporter in front of a courtyard of slaughter. "While none of us know what Prince Alexander's plans are in regards to the ascension, we know that if the king fails to bear a son, the throne will pass to the prince by law. His Majesty is expected to give a speech approximately forty-five minutes from now on the subject of this national outrage. Will there be an attempt on the king's life to ensure the prince's succession? The debate is only just beginning as Archaedon, too, suffers riots from slave savages. Already the pleasure district is entirely halted on their early morning profits due to a lack of obedience punishable by death, so The Business Insider reports. Everyone around Farlienne is waking up to find the mess unraveled by last night's rather confusing chain of events, but one thing is clear--if the slaves here in the mining district don't stop their fighting, Dale must be put on full lockdown per the Law of Execution. Three of the princess's brothers live here as well. There is no report yet on their current location."

"The king won't give a speech, who are they kidding?!" Hannah interjected, tears in her baby blue eyes. "He's too much of a coward. This violence can't go on! Who is going to calm the people?"

"I know someone who can." Arthur turned on his heel after giving President Lauridson leave to sit down, rushing down the art-smothered hallway and pushing open Alexander's metal door with a great thrust. Clothes belonging to the prince and princess were scattered this way and that during a night that obviously ended in passion, though thankfully the naked bodies of the royals remained concealed by scarlet blankets. Husband and wife were giggling happily in each other's arms after some unheard joke or tale, though the smiles were instantly wiped from their faces as Arthur came bursting in.

"I am sorry to have ruined your morning, your highnesses, but this is a matter of utmost importance. Alex, Jocelyn, you need to see this. Get dressed and come out as quickly as you can."

"What's happened?" inquired the princess in terror. As much as Arthur hated to be the bearer of bad news, he knew there was no other choice. He drew in a breath and met her eyes with the deepest of sympathy.

"A state of emergency has been issued in Dale. Fifty-three people are dead, and counting."[/fieldbox]

 

[Lillian Gray]

[fieldbox="Alexander Blackwood; The Last Good Man, #166b22, solid, 10"]"Was it a mine collapse?" Alexander asked almost lazily. It couldn't be good news Arthur had to give, not when it involved fifty three deaths. He had yet to see the horror with his own eyes. The morning was still young, the sun had hardly let her rays caress his skin.

"No." Arthur replied quickly. "Come, you should see this with your own eyes."

The two royals were quick to dress themselves. Alexander was faster. He nimbly danced into a pair of black trousers, discarded from the night before, and skipped out into the living room just beyond his open doors. Arthur reached a dark hand out to comfort his Prince, but Alexander brushed it away. His eyes stared coldly to the television. He'd expected something simple, something normal for the mining district. A collapse happened frequently enough to cause concern. At the very least, yet worst, he expected to hear about one of Jocelyn's many brothers possibly having died. Alexander was aware three of them were living in Dale, one had a family of his own.

What was on the screen was much worse. Blood and utter desolation met his eyes, Dale had deteriorated to rubble and dirt. That's all the city had been for many long years, but even seeing it on the television with his own eyes put him in a state of disbelief. Somehow, it had become less than that. Less than dirt, mud, and the natural state of the ground. There were holes in ramshackle buildings from bullets, craters in the ground from what Alexander presumed was an attempt at crowd control through small explosives.

"When did it start?" Alexander pressed Arthur for information without turning away from the television. He couldn't bring himself to stop watching. "Is it still happening? This isn't live is it?"

"Sometime last night, after they caught wind of the attack on Jocelyn. There have been riots through the night." Arthur responded. "It...is live, Alexander. This is what Dale looks like currently."

Alexander inhaled sharply. So that was Dale. People were dying at the very moment, and all he could do was sit pretty up in the Archaedon tower just as he always did. Just as he'd always done. In the end, there wasn't a damn thing Alexander could do because of his noble status, yet there were a thousand resources he could give through that very same noble blood if only the lower castes trusted him enough to let him lend that helping hand. So he could only stand in shocked silence as the chaos unraveled on screen.

"Oh, Josie...no." Hannah squeaked from a few feet away. Her eyes were red and raw, and her hands covered her face in a useless attempt to hide her sorrow. "I'm so sorry, Josie."

Alexander turned at the sound of Hannah's apology, only to face his wife. Immediately he barked an order to Arthur as he rushed to Jocelyn's side. "Turn it off." He pulled Jocelyn into his chest and forced her to turn away. He couldn't protect her from the world, but he could at least spare her the bloodshed a moment longer. She wasn't there, she couldn't fight, and if Alexander could shield her eyes from the life she'd grown used to, he could at least feel helpful in that moment.

"Turn it off!" He screamed.

He held Jocelyn close to him and stroked her tousled morning hair. Alexander knew, right then, that hiding her was useless, but seeing her reaction was the worst part.[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox=Jocelyn Blackwood; The Powerful Princess, #71a9c7, solid, 0, georgia]Dale had been transformed into a sea of ash and death. Her home, obstructed and obliterated with the chaos of an angered population, shouting with a united voice of indignation. The people of Dale had always loved Jocelyn. She would bake food for the hungry and give spare meal tickets to those who couldn't feed themselves. She helped with medical attention and attending to the children, she was sought out for advice, she was adored by her friends and neighbors. She made sure that life in a slave capital could be better for them all.

The miners all knew Jocelyn McDowell, and now they were dying for her.

"N-No," she wept, pulling swiftly from Alexander's comforting embrace. "Let me see. I need to see." She took the remote from Arthur's hand and turned the volume up, stepping closer to the screen as if it could take her home again.

"In the main square, hundreds of protesters are rallying against the Overseers. Riot control has been attempted and failed, leaving only more bodies and more chaos. Already the hangings have begun. We've received reports of at least twenty slaves and Overseers alike found beaten and lynched in the mines. I passed a rather gruesome sight just moments ago, that my technician will show on the screen for you."

An image flashed forward of a slave stripped bare, hanging by a noose from a lamp post. The word "LESSER" was painted in blood across his chest.

"These heinous acts against all are swallowing this place up. If the King doesn't make his speech soon, I fear things could only get worse and deaths will turn to a city-wide slaughter..."

"I-I can't," Jocelyn stuttered, gripping both hands on the side of her head and cowering. Her inhales began to wheeze and her lungs tightened in agony. "I can't stand here and do nothing, I can't, I ca...I c-can't..."

"Inhaler," Arthur ordered. "Now, now!" Hannah nodded and immediately rushed off to find the medical supply, pulling one of Jocelyn's emergency inhalers from a small kit and guiding the princess to sit down. Jocelyn drew in the puffs of assistance offered and felt a rush of relief flood through her body, but it wasn't enough to sate the panic that boiled in her chest. Jocelyn reached out for her husband's hand and pulled him down to her, desperate eyes locking with his.

"Don't let William say his words," she begged. "Let's make a speech instead. I gotta tell my people to stop fightin' or they'll all die terrible deaths. We hafta fight this, Alex. Please, please, I can't let it go on anymore. I just can't. Not when I can stop it."

"When we can stop it," President Lauridson chimed in. He smiled sadly upon the royal couple and held up a hand in defense of himself. "Forgive my intrusion here, your highnesses, but I come with important information. I suppose I should ask if you'd like to hear it before or after your speech for the people? I would come at another time, but I've already endangered myself to bring you this information."

"Be quick, sir," Jocelyn replied, wiping her eyes and burying into her husband's open arms. "I have lives to save."

"Of course, Princess. Of course." He picked up the remote from Jocelyn's side and turned off the television, while Hannah scurried about gathering appropriate clothes for Alex and Josie's speech for the people.

"You must listen carefully, Alexander. Listen carefully, and listen well."[/fieldbox]

 

[Lillian Gray]

[fieldbox="Alexander Blackwood; The Last Good Man, #166b22, solid, 10"]Alexander eyed the inhaler, an odd piece of equipment only seen a few times prior in his life. Most of the upper caste citizens were of a healthier gene pool, the likes of asthma hardly made their way to the noble caste, and even if they did there were many early treatment plans. The lack of labor also helped to avoid any strenuous lung issues. Despite knowing the inhaler was the better option, he turned to Hannah and issued another command. "Ephedra, please."

"Is the inhaler broken?" Hannah worried.

"No, just bring a bit." Alexander didn't have a spectacular reason in his request. However, the calming and familiar scent ought to calm her down far beyond what the inhaler was capable of. An effect brought on by years of sickness in the dank caves of Dale. He lit the leaves as Hannah rushed them back, and let them burn as Alexander gripped the edge carefully as the embers grew closer to the tips of his fingers. Wisps of smoke trailed away from the once living plant, and he prayed to give his wife some relief.

"I'm listening." Alexander proclaimed, all the while his eyes were locked on Jocelyn. "What do you have to tell me?"

"Right." The man mumbled awkwardly. He had expected a bit more interest from the Prince, and instead had received more of a cold shoulder. Laruidson took a hesitant step in the direction of the royal couple, and decided it was best if he left himself out of their personal space. "I'll be as quick as I am able in light of the current situation, but you must take to heart what I am about to admit to."

"Get to it." Alexander turned his head and scowled. "Dale is dying. Do your words hold the power to save those we've already lost? Those we will lose?"

"Quite possibly, yes. If you are the man your mother described to me, it may very well have the potential to save the entirety of Farlienne." Lauridson scowled back in response to the rude treatment, but no less continued. He was aged and much wiser than Alexander, and he had to remind himself that he was only dealing with a child untainted by the tides of war and poverty. "As you may well know, your mother was my student. As such, she trusted me even after our days of study were over, after she married your father. There were certain...things, statements I implored her to keep from our correspondences."

"Like what?" Alexander inquired.

What secret from the recently deceased Queen had the power to save an entire godforsaken country, left to smolder beneath an iron ruler with no regard for kindness or empathy. Surely there was nothing Lauridson could say to remedy the riots in Dale, that scene was too far beyond control now the only thing that was left was to mitigate the damages caused by reckless overseers.

"She had serious doubts about your brother, in certain regards. Your father did as well. Where he was cold, you were kind. His ability to act decent, well, you see where that's taken us today." Lauridson gestured back towards the blank television. Even though the screen was dark, the grainy opaque image of men tossing rocks and gas at one another still left is mark. "I wish I didn't have to say it, to do so is treason, my Lord."

"Say what?" Alexander dropped a piece of burning ephedra to the ground and rose to smother it beneath his bare heel. It stung against his calloused skin. "Lauridson, I have no time for you to worry of treason, you came here to tell me something. If you'd rather be back downstairs idling with the nobles in this tower, you're more than welcome."

"Here." Lauridson procured a stack of parchment from his coat pocket and pressed it into Alexander's hands. It was a large mess of letters on paper aged and new, black ink stained through the paper. "This will explain it. The last one, right there, just right..." The man quickly opened one of the folded notes and jabbed at a paragraph just near the end of the letter.

'Despite all that, his behavior has not improved. I find it remarkable that a son of my own blood has the capacity to act on such cruel thoughts. Even now as he reaches past his thirtieth year, and has a child of his own, it pains me to believe that this is the man I raised with my own teachings. Where did I go wrong? What sin have I committed to anger our Gods and give way to a King who would rather rule with fear above love? I'll not have it. I'll not allow for my Will to be King.

I have two sons. One will be King, but only the one who has the capability to show empathy.

Not Will.

Never.'
​

The date was barely a year prior. Alexander read it over again, mouthing the words as he tried to interpret the obvious meaning of his mother's writings. She never wanted William to be King because he was a harsh man, saying so herself in many letters Alexander had yet to read, but was sure to in due time. Lauridson pointed his thin finger onto the paper in one final gesture.

"What's it say, Alex?" Arthur asked from behind. He was met with stunned silence from the Prince.

"It was meant to be the other son." Lauridson whispered. As if he believed William could hear the words from miles away, he mouthed syllables to Alexander with wide eyes. "You were meant to be King."[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox=Jocelyn Blackwood; The Powerful Princess, #71a9c7, solid, 0, georgia]President Laurisdon's words clung to the air like gas, so thick and toxic that Jocelyn nearly choked. The ephedra had certainly procured the effect Alexander knew it would, and she was grateful for that extra calming wave, but the aura of peace she had struggled to build slipped through her fingers in horror. Jocelyn was no fool. She could put pieces together and come to the fatal conclusion that this foreign dignitary implied. When the realization struck, her lips parted with a gasp. "That means--"

"The death of the king and queen," Arthur spat, rage growing in his chest so suddenly that it was visible to any who looked upon him. "That wasn't an accident. That was William, he found out somehow. He knew that Alex was going to be king and he killed them before that could happen."

"I believe so," the president confirmed with a deep frown. "They were on their way to Palladia, to me, so that I might have a sword forged specifically for your coronation, your highness. We were to go over the details together. Esmeralda, she trusted me with this information. She would go to no one else and the king valued her opinion. The morning they were to leave, I received word that their airship had exploded shortly after takeoff. William must have found out somehow, perhaps he tampered with the ship itself or ordered someone else to do it for him..."

"We had checked and cleared the vessel that morning," Arthur grunted. "I knew it was foul play, it had to be, but I didn't know why or who. Now I know. Gods, now I fucking know."

"Hannah," Jocelyn wheezed. "Clothes. We need proper clothes, please."

"Yeah, o-of course. Of course." Hannah wiped the tears from her cheeks and scurried off to the prince and princess's chambers, out of sight.

Jocelyn took another puff of her inhaler and let the medicine do its work before she stood, albeit a bit wearily as nausea overwhelmed her, but she stood in confidence all the same. Her motive became clear. She held tight to the sides of her husband's arms and looked upon a handsome face strangled by anguish and hate, her own expression dancing with despair.

"Alex," she whispered, cupping his cheeks in her hands. "Darling, look at me. Please look at me." Jocelyn pulled him gently down to her, their eyes locking to a hold. Her words were those of truth and war, for only then could they mix in a way that made sense, in a way that was utterly justified. She drew in an anxious breath and released. "This can't go unpunished. Your parents died for this letter, this promise, and we hafta fulfill it for them. For the sake of Farlienne, for the sake of us. For you." She brushed his cheeks with her thumbs, an affectionate gesture to quell the rage within. She could feel it rippling through his frame. "You want my people to be free, an' I do too. You want to bring happiness to Farlienne where William would bring sorrow. If you were king, we could accomplish all the things we've talked about during the nights before bed, the mornings at breakfast, all the laws and councils and services and statuses we would change to make this country better. You are the smartest person I've ever known and the only one I would want as king--it is because of you that I have a say at all." Jocelyn slipped her hands from his face and laced his fingers with hers, squeezing once, twice, desperate for him to hear her plea.

"They say the king is gonna make a speech today, to stop the riots in Dale. And I'll be by his side when he does."[/fieldbox]

 

[Lillian Gray]

[fieldbox="Alexander Blackwood; The Last Good Man, #166b22, solid, 10"]Alexander remained quiet, not even letting his closest friends inside his boggled brain. From last night's events going utterly sour, to riots in Dale, and the rush to be presentable in order to quell the crowds, the Prince was somewhat overwhelmed. The notion of how to act abandoned him, and his face showed a mingled look of despair and anger.

He'd never encountered these problems until Jocelyn had come into his life. Riots were kept under wraps by the Overseers, or flat out didn't occur because of the slave caste's fear of their betters. Alexander didn't have to make speeches in order to preserve a group of people who had no more wealth than his front room. Yet, he couldn't actually think that way. It wasn't a problem at all.

This is the best damn opportunity I've ever had to make change come about.

"Someone is going to make a speech today, but it won't be the King." Alexander cooed quietly to his wife, much likely to her dismay.

"All of you, listen carefully, I don't want word of this getting out. Can you imagine what might happen if word got out my parents wanted me to be King instead of my brother? They riot in Dale because they saw Jocelyn being harmed by my brother, and while I am no slave, their affection for me is not as genuine as it is for her..." He paused, his hand stroked Jocelyn's cheek and lingered against her bruised skin. "...if they knew that my brother was ruling under false wishes, the results could be just short of the starting of a civil war. It's commonly known I'm a strong advocate for equality, the entire population would be torn. Nobles would despise me, yet the lower castes would kill for the chance to stand on equal ground."

"I'll admit, you have a point there." Arthur sighed. "I'll escort Lauridson safely out, so no suspicion arises from your meeting before your speech, is that agreeable? Alex, don't you dare leave without me. It's going to be chaos out there."

Both Alexander and Lauridson nodded. Arthur took the latter by the arm and the two were off quiet as could be. The clambering of the elevator could be heard even from the living room, the wide metal doors creaked open and slammed shut, sending the pair off to leave the Prince and Princess alone.

"I won't exacerbate the situation with this news." Alexander explained. His features were ripe with a new expression of worry. "Right now, I want to stop the riots in Dale, and make sure your family is safe. Then, we can focus on what's to come."[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox=Jocelyn Blackwood; The Powerful Princess, #71a9c7, solid, 0, georgia]"Our family." Jocelyn stood before her husband, her love, cupping his face with gentle hands. "My family is yours, and yours is mine. Our family. We'll save 'em, I know we will." Steady, Jocelyn. Breathe in. Breathe out. She obeyed her inner monologue, closing her eyes and embracing Alexander as tightly as her vulnerable strength dared. She could not cry again, she would not. Her eyes were red and puffy and her cheeks stained with tears, but in the forefront of her mind she knew only grace and mercy would prevail above this horror. Jocelyn had to believe that. There was nothing else keeping her held together. Not even Alexander could keep her whole should any harm befall her people, for without them, did she have any identity at all?

When the couple finally pulled away from each other's arms, Hannah reentered the main room and gestured for Jocelyn to come forward. "Come on, Josie. I'll get you ready." The princess nodded, gave her husband a small kiss, and obliged.

"I chose a dress that King William will love." Hannah's words were bitter and spiteful.

"What do you mean?"

"It'll make a statement, make him worry," Hannah explained. "I can't stand by your side while Alex makes his speech. That's a prince's duty, or a king's, or whatever he is. But you're his wife. You're the center of all this, and I can make you say a thousand words without ever opening your mouth." She guided Jocelyn into the master bathroom, where she crossed the room and held up a one-sleeved dress of sleek and powerful design. "Black for mourning, one sleeve for modesty and a lack of one for ferocity. Maybe I put too much weight on dresses, but you're not just a pretty princess who stands by, Josie. I know you better. And now the world needs to know it too."

Jocelyn, in truth, knew nothing about fashion and it's importance to the nobility and upper classes. But she knew that she trusted Hannah with her life, with her husband's life, and if this was what she felt would make an impact, it was what she would do. The princess stepped forward and pulled the blonde into a warm embrace. "Thank you, Hannah. Thank you so much, for everything. Alex an' I need you and you've always been there. I promise we'll protect you."

"I know." Hannah beamed through her sadness. "What about your makeup? Do you want any?"

"No," Jocelyn replied. "Let them see my tears. Let them know who I weep for." When Jocelyn was dressed, her hair pinned and a tiara of black diamond placed atop her head, she looked in the mirror and saw the face of justice staring back through bloodshot eyes. The slaves would rally behind this face and the words that came from her lips, and never before was Jocelyn filled with a greater sense of purpose. I look powerful, she thought. I look exactly like what Hannah described. No words of gratitude could form on her lips, but Hannah knew her intentions. She squeezed the princess's hand and took her leave, wordless.

Jocelyn stepped out of the bathroom moments later. She watched Alexander buttoning up his shirt, his back to her, his movements slow and pensive. Her heart churned desperately and anxiously in her chest, for she knew this entire quandary would end in war and bloodshed. Kings were never made from less. She approached her beloved husband from behind, slipping her arms around his ribs and resting her head between his shoulders. "I love you," she told him softly, breathing in the scent of him. "No matter what happens, Alex, I love you always."[/fieldbox]

 

[Lillian Gray]

[fieldbox="Alexander Blackwood; The Last Good Man, #166b22, solid, 10"]She made his muscles relax for the time her arms slipped around his chest, and he could feel her hot breath murmuring the sweet tale of her everlasting love, their love. Alexander paused his hands, his slender fingers trembled above a silky blank tie resting around the collar of his shirt as he exhaled a long bated breath. It had been moments ago that they were in bed together, the only fabric being the thin cotton sheets which smelled faintly of the sweet scent of their night of passion. Despite the fact the Prince knew he had to speak, his heart longed to be back in bed with his wife.

"I will not let Dale fall to ruin because of my brother's actions." Alexander's chest rumbled with the embers of his earlier anger. His voice, however, appeared to be calm yet stern. "The world will see what we can do, together, and we start with Dale. We'll do this together."

--------------​

Cameras were pointed towards a raised stage near the back of a long room. The walls were white, nothing but a mass of chairs were laid before Alexander and Jocelyn, who comprised the only figures sitting tall above the rest. Lights flashed in their faces. Every photographer wanted a close up shot of the woeful Princess Jocelyn with her red tear streaked face, and the cold expression of her husband. Alexander squeezed Jocelyn's hand with every flash. He was accustomed to the parade of cameras and press, she was not, and no matter how prepared she felt she was to face the world to speak for Dale, Alexander had a feeling it was still overwhelming.

It was time at last for Alexander to speak. In a fluid motion he raised his hand and stood, signaling for the frenzy to quiet so he could begin. He held Jocelyn, an arm wrapped casually around her waist. I need her touch, to keep me sane in this godforsaken sea of fools and their cameras. Alexander feared without her close, he would snap. So for the time, he put on a mask of total control and prayed for the best.

"I'd ask that you all let me speak before asking any questions." He started, "As you're all aware, Dale is currently in a state of utter chaos. The riots began sometime during the night, because of an unprovoked attack on my wife - who so bravely stands before you now so that you may see the bruises my brother has inflicted upon her in what was supposed to be a peaceful meal between nations. Now, these nations will see us for nothing more than a country who maintains no control over the peace."

He paused to compose himself before continuing further into the matter. His blood still boiled thinking back to the previous night. William dared to insult him, and even dared to harm his wife. Even if she was born a slave, like it or not, she married a royal. By the rules of engagement, she was a royal now. A part of William's game gone wrong.

"I could stand here and make a remark about the failure of our King to address the matter, but right now I need action. I need aid to those who were injured, of all castes. I want the fighting to cease and I want justice for the families affected. The Princess has family in Dale, and as of yet, their whereabouts are unknown. This is a personal matter now, one of knowing whether or not my family is alive, and I'll not have any Overseers meddling with the lives of those I care a great deal for."

"If the Overseers do not lay down their weapons, and the citizens of Dale do not calm their riots, I'll be forced to declare a state of emergency. Either that, or I'll handle it myself. This is unacceptable. In either event, I'd personally see to it that I make an appearance myself."

Alexander grumbled after his last words. He certainly had more to say, but looked briefly to his wife for support. Surely, she had a few words of her own, tears to shed for the masses to gain an inkling of support from the noble families within the great city of Archaedon.[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox=Jocelyn Blackwood; The Powerful Princess, #71a9c7, solid, 0, georgia]Alexander and Jocelyn needed each other, truly. They leaned on one other for strength and courage in such a time of utter desperation, as neither could address the matter calmly without the continued presence of their other halves. His hand rested on her waist brought her as much peace as it did him. Jocelyn made eye contact with her loving husband and smiled, and while anxiety festered at the back of her throat like bile, she knew that words from Farlienne's crowned princess would be necessary to stop the carnage. This would the mark the first time that an entire nation would bend to the ear of a born slave. She had no intention of giving into her fears now.

Drawing in a breath, Jocelyn turned her gaze to the crowd. And calmly, she spoke.

"I arrived in Dale nearly five years ago for the first time. I remember thinking how curious it was that people could live inside rock homes hanging from great cave ceilings, and I stared at them for at least an entire minute, standing there with my mouth hanging open like the little fool I was. 'Don't do that for too long,' a fiddler told me. 'You're bound to let a bug fly in.'" Jocelyn stopped a moment to chuckle sadly. "I laughed even though it wasn't a joke, because I needed humor. I needed something. I'd just been torn from my parents and all I had left was false joy. That man was kind to me from that moment on, until I left. He taught me how to play his instrument and was a dear friend to me and my family." She bit her lip. "I saw him hanging naked in a noose this morning, beaten and strangled to death." Jocelyn felt the tears sting the back of her eyes. She slipped an arm around Alexander's back to steady herself, and the cameras clicked fiercely to see them embracing so.

"Dale is my home. It rose to protect me when the King and his friend, Czar Victor Harper, threatened to 'rip me, split me, put me in my p-place.' They grabbed me before the meeting and sexually assaulted me, they hit me, they humiliated me and made threats against my family. I will not make light of this as your king will try to. Believe the words I say, for a slave is taught very young that lying means death." Jocelyn drew in a steady breath as the buzz of chatter swelled upon her declaration.

"To the Overseers, stop the murder or risk mine and my husband's combined anger. And to the rioters in Dale, your devotion brought me to tears this morning, but so did your wounds. Please, set them aside for now. Our time will come. The man who stands beside me is your lawful prince, the second most powerful man in Farlienne and the holder of my heart. We will find an answer for the crimes committed against me, and against those you've lost, down to the last poor fiddler hanging from a lamppost. You are not forgotten."

Jocelyn closed her mouth and said no more, but she knew her words had done enough. She stood stoic and neutral though her legs began to shake, and she turned to Alexander to see if he had any final words.[/fieldbox]

 

[Lillian Gray]

[fieldbox="Alexander Blackwood; The Last Good Man, #166b22, solid, 10"]Together, they were the image of weakness and strength. Alexander, with his head held high and his eyes set on a distant goal, represented the latter ideal. However, he only looked the part because he'd been raised as a royal. The man was taught to act as a Prince before the masses and cameras. As if a switch went off, he could compose himself even through the red mask of anger just beneath the surface of his skin.

Jocelyn tried to appear strong, Alexander could sense it under the touch of his hand around her waist. Her words were powerful to only the sympathetic ears in the audience, her unwavering courage would persuade the rest. Alexander knew even if she wanted to appear to be strong, no one would take her seriously until she proved her worth. To the whole world, minus those of her own caste, she was unfit to stand at the Prince's side. She still needed him to anchor her.

Then again, he needed her. Maybe we're both too weak. Alexander thought as he gazed down lovingly at his wife. He was sad to hear her story, but so proud she had the voice to tell the tale herself. Words from a slave were more likely to sway the disbelievers than the crafted speeches from Alexander. But I have you, Jocelyn. And that's enough for now.

"There aren't- I don't have the proper words to describe my feelings about what is happening at Dale. Slaughter for the sake of slaughter that could be resolved if we all simply remembered one simple truth." Alexander sighed and closed his eyes. His hold on Jocelyn grew tighter with his irritation. "In this world we are all human. Disease, famine, disasters and miracles care not how much gold is flowing through our family name or status. It's time we starting acting like human beings, and helping all of our brothers and sisters in Dale."

The hoard of reporters grew anxious, their questions whirled together in a blur alongside the constant pang of light from left and right. They'd been told to remember the truth. They'd been told to act as humans, yet they screeched and clawed towards the platform like rabid animals. At the end of the day, their paycheck was all that mattered. Getting Alexander's attention was their goal, and none would sleep well going home without a proper response to their quick witted questions and queries.

So, he'd put a stop to it.

"Turn the media away, go to Dale, aid them. They need a strong pair of hands, not my voice. They're but empty promises backed by the late night news shows they can't even watch." Alexander pulled Jocelyn slightly to the side with the intention of leaving early. "Maybe I'll give them my own hands for a while, if it helps."[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox=Jocelyn Blackwood; The Powerful Princess, #71a9c7, solid, 0, georgia]Jocelyn caught her husband's silent suggestion and was quick to follow along, not wanting to stay any longer than they must. Thank you, she thought, thank you for always knowing what I need.

Cameras clicked and journalists shouted their questions, both genuine and offensive, but Jocelyn didn't have the energy for any of it. A wave of nausea overwhelmed her. She wrapped her arm around Alexander's and walked with him back toward the elevators, grateful when the steel doors closed around them and silence reigned in the small compartment. Jocelyn pressed the button for their floor and gave a shaky exhale, leaning her head on his broad shoulder. They didn't say a word, not that they needed to. The silence was just as assuring. When they reached their home, Jocelyn slipped of her shoes and walked right back into their bedroom, undressing almost entirely.

All I want to do is sleep.

Her whole body ached. Her back was sore, her chest was tender and her feet ached from the heels. She only wanted to climb back between the sheets with her husband and not move for the remainder of the day. He seemed to have the same idea, for he was quick to remove from his clothing and the two slid into the comforts of their blankets and held each other close.

Alexander and Jocelyn shed tears and laughter, talked and played games and made jokes and shared personal stories. They shared the day together because they knew the value of a soul and how little life meant in world of hatred. They knew that their time on this earth was numbered. War was on the horizon and they might not survive it. If they could take a day for themselves, even a day that began in terror, they would enjoy it no matter what and cherish it for the years to come.

By the end of the day, Jocelyn was exhausted. She slipped into slumber at her husband's side and he pulled her against his chest, and before the sun had fully set they were locked away in each other's protection.

Tomorrow will be different, she told herself.

Tomorrow, our revolution begins.[/fieldbox]

 

[Lillian Gray]

[fieldbox="Alexander Blackwood; The Last Good Man, #166b22, solid, 10"]The following weeks tested Alexander's resilience as well as his patience for his brother's meddling. The riots died down, in part because of Jocelyn's words, in part because of the military threat on the horizon. No one dared get the Prince or the King involved with such trivial matters. But Jocelyn, the general populous thought of her as nothing more than a meager extension of Alexander's authority. She held no power to the upper class, only to the slaves who looked up to their one and only noble slave. To the common folk, it simply wasn't worth it to ban together for a single event in an outlying mining district. They cared too much for their luxuries.

Nobles batted their eyes. Merchants sent trivial amounts of change in a vain attempt to appease Alexander's command. Commoners kept their heads low. The slaves were silenced by other breaking news in the upper castes, of scandals and heartbreak, inventions and weather.

But because of them, because of Alexander and Jocelyn, Dale was not forgotten. Like smoke from the burning stacks of coal, the smog and blackened day stained the papers from time to time. Instead of being swept entirely under the rug, it stirred the air. Plain enough to be seen, and easy enough to ignore.

Two weeks had slowly passed as Alexander did his best to contain the riots from spreading. He sat in his small office overlooking the large library, rapping the back end of his pen against a stack of parchment. Letters, countless notices and promises to those nobles who lived in the outskirts of Dale, at least only to those who understood what equality truly meant. Half of what went out lacked a reply, even less than that promised aid, everyone else ignored the royal man's desperate pleas for help. William was still in control. Opposing the King was an act of treason, and aiding those in Dale wasn't a good place to start when attempting to keep in the King's good graces.

"Who's even left?" Alexander sighed, defeated. The clock behind him struck once, twice, three times, alerting him to the early hour in which he sat alone in the dim of his office. "McCoy, Kelley, Jay..." He rattled off the list before him, but there were too many names. As he continued, their worth declined, until he was looking at the family names of past nobles who were either penniless or deceased.

The Prince stood, there was nothing else he could do but wait, as he'd done for weeks. He blew out the single candle on his desk and left alone his parchment and thoughts. Somewhere, his wife waited for his warm embrace.

My sweet, sweet wife.[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox=Jocelyn Blackwood; The Powerful Princess, #71a9c7, solid, 0, georgia]With the chime of the old clock, Jocelyn rose from a deep slumer. Her head pounded as blood rushed to it, making her dizzy and barely able to stand. Her stomach ached something terrible. Every time she moved, her back spasmed in sheer agony from some unknown ache, and she was left wondering if she'd slept so oddly to cause such a hurt. Each muscle had its own pain. The room spun as she climbed from the comforts of their bed, sick and terrified and trembling from whatever ailment this was.

I just want this to be over.

Every morning was the same. Jocelyn was often able to stifle the feelings of misery she woke with, keeping Alexander from knowing how low her health truly was, but each day made her symptoms worsen until she could no longer bear it. Jocelyn was becoming more sick, week by week. She hadn't wanted to bother Alexander with her plight, seeing how distracted and focused he was in gathering allies for the coming war, and she thought her own personal health far below the priority of setting the country straight.

But perhaps I was wrong, she thought as she stumbled into the bathroom, flipping on the lights. Perhaps I need medical attention, and I need it far sooner than later.

The princess collapsed to her knees before the porcelain toilet bowl and wretched violently into it, muscles seizing, the air in her lungs leaving her. She coughed and heaved and felt nausea overwhelm her time and time again until there was absolutely nothing left, not a shred of sustenance for her stomach to survive on. Even water was thrown forth from the depths of her body. Jocelyn gasped and clutched at her throat to regain the oxygen she'd lost once the vomiting passed, and leaned back against the wall with tears in her eyes. She was weak and pale, clammy from a cold sweat.

"Alexander," she whispered, trying to call out to him. "Alexander," she tried louder, but again she failed to reach him.

Her attempts were in vain. She leaned over the toilet once more as her stomach found more to expel from her system, and the misery continued.[/fieldbox]

 

[Lillian Gray]

MARRUS 19, YEAR 2418 CE

[fieldbox="Alexander Blackwood; The Last Good Man, #166b22, solid, 10"]No mortal man was able to tame Alexander's rising frustration. Arthur tried in vain to soothe his worries about, well, just about everything. There wasn't an item free from Alexander's mind in the current state of Archaedon's affairs. Beyond the regular gossip and corruption in the city, there was added mistrust to the noble Prince. He married a slave, and there were still those who were against the union, legal as it was in the eyes of their Gods. As well as the riots and outrage, strict guidelines were being implemented without much notice. Each day, a new problem arose. A small stone it might have been, but the pile was rising, crushing the Prince beneath its weight.

It was evident on his face near the end of the day, when he was most weary after council and encounters with the rest of the upper class citizens who were attracted to the Capital building. He still held his status as a Prince, whether or not his brother approved, and he had every right to interact and socialize as he pleased in order to gain information on the outside. The news was bombarded with reports from the rest of the world, yet not one face batted an eye. They were safe behind the towers of Archaedon. Pictures displayed horrible and grotesque images of dead bodies, both slave and better. Years of abuse culminated in riots, one after the other in a wave of bloodied torment and agony. Damned were the souls with no shields, no voice, and no rights to their name. Being born was their only sin, but a fatal one still.

Just another story, he wanted to tell himself, as he once believed as a child safe in the arms of his mother. A frightening tale before bed, just before dreams and sleep whisked away the horrible words. Disease turned into a came of tag, hide and seek, death was a simple state of sleep in which one arose from feeling refreshed and alive. Games and childish wishes. Then, it was a hazy memory. The only similarity was the one who kept him calm in times of dire stress. No mortal man was able to tame the frustration, but a woman who had that certain touch was another matter entirely. Once she was a mother. Now, the woman in Alexander's life was his wife. Once the object of his childhood dreams and misunderstanding, a slave from the biased media sources, now a symbol of hope for her people.

Alexander was finally waking up from the dream.

Alexander stretched his arms up and pressed them against the headboard, exhaling a lengthy yawn from another restless night. Without so much as a glimpse in the mirror, he could envision the purple bags beneath his eyes. He rolled on his side and extended his hands towards Jocelyn to embrace her, but was disappointed to find that she had left the bed. The space where she usually lay was cold to the touch. The sheets were bunched and mussed over Alexander's side of the bed as if she'd tossed them away in a hurry. Alexander frowned.

"Darling, where have you gone, the morning is cold without you..." Alexander raised his voice slightly, chuckling merrily. She had that effect on him, pure bliss. He rolled out of bed and draped a robe over his shoulders. There was still no reply to his call, so he tried again to get his wife to announce herself. "Jocelyn? Are you here?"

Maybe she's making breakfast.

He paced into the bathroom with the intention of cleaning himself up before wandering into the rest of the flat, and found her there on the floor. Hands gripped to the toilet, knuckles so white the porcelain paled in comparison, she wretched up what was left of her dinner from the previous night. Her body attempted to vomit several times and Alexander finally was able to register the obvious pain in her face. He hadn't even known she was ill to begin with, her behavior hadn't alerted him in the slightest that there was any reason to worry. Between the mixed feelings of guilt and pity, Alexander managed to get a grip on the situation.

"Jocelyn!" He exclaimed.

He knelt on the floor beside her and took up a fistful of her hair to keep it out of the way as she leaned over the rim of the bowl. With his other hand, he traced the back of his knuckles across her back in slow circles. The soothing motion didn't seem to help whatsoever, and so Jocelyn let out another painful gasp. Her body didn't have anything else to give up, as much as it wanted to.

"Breathe, alright?" He murmured softly. "In, and out." Alexander inhaled and exhaled deeply as he always did when he wanted her to calm down. "Just breathe, it'll pass. Oh, I'm sorry. I'll fetch the doctor as soon as I'm able. I don't think I want to leave you here like this, poor thing. It'll pass, it'll pass. And in, and out..."[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox=Jocelyn Blackwood; The Powerful Princess, #71a9c7, solid, 0, georgia]Jocelyn wearily finished her wretching and leaned against her husband's supportive frame. Her breathing calmed per his instruction and she matched the pace of her heart to his, taking his calmness as a part of herself. She lay against him for several minutes in silence before turning to face her prince, my king?, and cupped his face in her hands, a gesture that held special significance for the both of them.

"I dunno what's wrong with me," Jocelyn told him, slipping back into her slave accent as she was known to do when exhausted and unwell. "I can't barely stop the room from spinnin' an' I feel like I ain't solid. Like, like a wave. Or somethin'." She sighed and snuggled up against him, crawling into his lap and resting her forehead against the side of his neck. "You have that meeting with the others today, don't ya? I'll be okay. That's important stuff."

In truth, she didn't know whether or not she would be okay. But Alexander's rebellion mattered more than any ailment of hers.

Jocelyn lifted her head from her husband and smiled at him. "My mouth tastes gross, but I feel a bit better now. Now that you're with me. Let me brush my teeth and then I'll join you in bed, hm?" She pressed a kiss to his jawline and weakly stood on her feet, going about her business at the sink in front of the mirror. It took everything not to gag with the toothbrush in her mouth.

Jocelyn was used to faking health for the sake of others. Every day in Dale was agony. She would pass out more often than not from overwork and lack of oxygen, but she would smile and say she was fine, if only to keep her brothers from worrying. But Dale lies in ruins now, she thought with a deep frown. I'm not going to let Alex's worry for me stop him from going on with his plans.

When she crawled back into bed at her husband's side, she felt safe once more, though a thousand questions stirred in her head.

What could possibly go wrong now?

---

MARRUS 20, YEAR 2418 CE
​

Morning light came faster than Jocelyn wanted. When her husband rose to face the morning, she groaned and buried her face under the blankets to shield her eyes from the light. Her body ached everywhere and her stomach was as empty as it was poisoned with nausea. She whimpered and cuddled up in a ball, protected from the outside world in a shield of cotton and wool blankets. She heard Alexander say something to her, but she couldn't understand, and the door opened in a rush of panicked breaths and Hannah's quick steps. The two exchanged words about "doctors" and "sickness" and other things, but Jocelyn was far too tired to pay attention, and she continued to blot everything out and focus on breathing to keep the nausea at bay.

"Don't..." she groaned. "Don't cancel this meeting, Alex." She poked her head out from the blankets and reached for his hand. "I can see the doctor on my own."[/fieldbox]

 

[Lillian Gray]

[fieldbox="Alexander Blackwood; The Last Good Man, #166b22, solid, 10"]He didn't dare leave her side. Despite the hesitant warning from Hannah, Alexander crawled into bed on his hands and knees to shield her from the sun. She looked a sickly shade of green, even beneath the comforts of the bed. Alexander's face poked inches from Jocelyn's, her breath panting against his lips. "Jocelyn, sweet Jocelyn, how can I let you go alone after seeing you like this?" Alexander whispered in her ear, so only she could hear his plea. "Wrap your arms around my neck, come now...We only want to help."

The room was unbearably silent as Alexander lifted Jocelyn straight out of bed. With her head cradled against his chest, he embraced the girl. She whimpered at even his touch, meant to be gentle and tender, instead it only brought waves of nausea. Hannah extended an arm in an effort to be helpful, but let it fall short without knowing entirely what to do. Jocelyn was sick, very sick, and no one knew why.

"What hurts Josie?" Hannah asked. "You look awful..."

The young maid pressed her hand against Jocelyn's forehead. Besides being clammy, she felt nothing unusual, no fever. Then again, she also wasn't a doctor and she knew it well. Hannah sighed and removed her hand, but not before gently rubbing her thumb across Jocelyn's cheek. She'd seen women get sick before, but Hannah doubted what her instincts were telling her. Jocelyn just seemed too ill.

"Call a doctor, immediately." Alexander ordered Hannah. "And do me a favor, Hannah?"

"Yes, anything." The girl nodded intensely. She snapped to attention.

"Have Arthur bring the diplomats here." Alexander said. He adjusted Jocelyn in his arms. "I'll apologize to them later, for now-"

"Do you intend to have your meeting here?" Hannah asked incredulously. "I hate to be...well, but Alexander, they've come all this way. We had a schedule to maintain, even rented out the top tier so you could have privacy..."

"Then they'll understand. They have to." Alexander sighed. "It's war we're waging, albeit a rather silent protest, but not everything can go according to plan. I want to keep the living in good health, while I'm able to do something about it... Besides. What safer place than my own quarters? Now that I think it over, William could waltz in on us, well aware we've rented the space out or not. Yes, have them come here, as soon as possible and with my regards."

Dale still weighed heavy on his mind. The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop himself. All those people, gone, in a mere instant across the media. Jocelyn hadn't slept well those following nights. Constantly, she would toss and turn. She murmured in her sleep, though he couldn't make out the individual words. Alexander couldn't help but wonder if she knew any of the deceased, and the odds were, she knew each and every one. The tight knit community lost many that day, and every person mourned. For the loss of a neighbor, a friend, a husband, wife, they all lost something.

Even if Jocelyn was sure to be fine, Dale filled him with guilt.

Alexander turned his back to Hannah, effectively closing the conversation. Hannah grimaced, but ultimately gave in to the request. It wasn't as if she could say no, but she knew that being the messenger was an all but thankful job. She ran to fetch the doctor, and made sure to stop to let Arthur know that he too had an important task.

"I'll run you a bath, or hold your hair while you empty your stomach. Just hold on a moment so I can shut the blinds, you'll feel better..." Alexander stepped into the master bath and closed the curtain doing his best to keep Jocelyn in his arms. He didn't care if she vomited on his shirt, he only wanted to help.

To do something. Anything. Being raised a royal had never been so disadvantageous. He could pay for the best medicine and read the best books on how to ease her pain, but actually helping?

He didn't know how.[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox=Jocelyn Blackwood; The Powerful Princess, #71a9c7, solid, 0, georgia]Jocelyn drew in a breath to tell him that his plans weren't necessary, that he could go on with his diplomatic arrangements as expected and leave her to her appointment with the doctor, but she knew he would not listen. Alexander was anything if not devoted. He would give his all to his beloved wife--his time, his well-being, his very soul if the gods demanded it. Jocelyn nestled into the side of his neck to show her devotion in return, though when she spoke at last she was concerned for his priorities.

"Alex, please. I feel terrible, but Dale feels worse, and I feel worse because of Dale. The stuff goin' on in the world right now is more important than me bein' sick." She curled his hair behind his ear and turned his head to look at her. "Please. You can have the meeting here if you want, but you have to have it no matter what. I'll be okay."

Jocelyn could only hope that he believed her.

After a long and soothing bath accompanied with the occasional sick spell, Jocelyn felt clean and significantly better, though still nauseous and dizzy. She passed the time talking with her husband about all sorts of things while the doctor and foreign dignitaries were being summoned, and for a moment she allowed herself to feel like everything was normal. Jocelyn could clasp these moments in her hands and lock them away in the deepest reaches of her heart, only to be retrieved in times of seeking great comfort from the many traumas that would undoubtedly lie ahead of them. She wondered if Alexander knew just how many happy memories he had created for her. Someday soon, I'll let him know.

When Jocelyn was done in the bath, her husband wrapped her in a thick robe and helped her back into bed. She brushed her hair and drank from the glass of water Hannah provided. The doctor was ushered in shortly after, looking somber and worried for his royal client.

"Princess," he said with a frown. "You are becoming my most recurring patient, you know."

"I'm sorry." Jocelyn offered him a smile, keeping her fingers laced with her husband's. "I don't mean to take up all your time."

"Don't worry about it. I'd rather you be healthy than anything else." He placed his bag atop the table by the window and retrieved some of his medical supplies. As he gathered his things, Arthur knocked on the metal door and pushed it open, poking his head inside. "Alex, they're all here in the main room waiting for you. Nisqually, Lauridson, all of 'em."

"Go," Jocelyn encouraged, meeting her husband's eyes. "I'll be fine on my own."[/fieldbox]