User:Yuanchosaan/Fencing Lessons/Chapter 3

When a bottle thunks onto the desk in front of him, Gabe doesn't deign to lift his gaze from his book. "It's too early in the day for brandy," he says, turning the page.

"But not too early for wine?" asks Bailey, pointing at his glass. She flings herself into the chair across from him with a sour expression.

"That's entirely different." He continues to read his book, knowing that Bailey would not be able to contain herself for much longer. Much to his surprise, when she speaks, it's not a complaint about their eldest brother.

"Let's swap students. You take Cressie, and I'll take Woton."

"Why would we do that?"

"Because you can't teach Woton a single damn thing."

"I fail to see how you would have any more success than I. He is obstinately impossible."

"At least I'd have more fun with it."

"This is not about fun, Bailey. It's about duty. Besides, I thought you loved spoiling little Cressie."

Before he can react, his sister snatches his book with one hand and throws it on the floor, forcing him to look at her with her other arm. Sloppy, he notes. Fencing with her every day, and yet I am unprepared for her swiftness.

"Fine. You've got me. This is about duty: we need to help the two of them, and you can help Cressie better than I."

He contains his surprise at how easily she admits it. In another person, he would assume that they were lying...but Bailey is always brutally honest. "Possibly, but Cressida is not the one who needs help. I am instilling discipline into Woton. Cressida can wait."

"I'm not prepared to leave the two of them to be miserable until you feel you have "instilled" enough discipline!"

"That is part of the discipline. Woton may be miserable now, but he will be less miserable in the future because of this training. I am trying to help him, Bailey, whatever you may think of me."

Content to let Bailey glower, he returns to his book. Patience, he has discovered from an early age, was one of the most terrible weapons he could wield. Few people have the ability to maintain focus on a thought - let alone a plan in the face of setbacks. Ardent desire and indignation ran their course swiftly. To watch, wait and make the fewest moves possible once one had read the opponent - that was the key to every situation. In Bailey's case, one simply stayed silent until her rage and relentless action caused her to storm out.

"I'll bet you."

"What?"

"As I said. I'll bet you."

Gabriel is amused despite himself. "You are terribly transparent when it comes to manipulation, Bailey. Don't even try."

Bailey ignores this, and bullies onward. "I'll take Woton, and I'll make him a better fencer than Cressie. We'll teach them for three months, and then have a match in front of Freddie. He can be the judge."

"Doubtful, but it will never happen, so why bother predicting?" It is almost painful how obvious Bailey is with appealing to his pride. How can she expect to convince him if he is aware of every move she makes?

"Worried you won't win, brother dear?"

"Don't be ridiculous." He turns another page, affecting boredom.

"Then you have no reason to refuse."

"Not being drawn into this childishness isn't a sufficient reason?"

"It's not childishness to want to help our little brother and sister. Since you won't willingly help me, I'll have to bet you."

"And what's on the line for this wager?"

"Doesn't matter, does it? I've bet you, so that's all that counts."

"That's ridiculous-" he throws his hands up. She is, of course, exactly right. "How do you do that? All of your cards are on the table, and yet..." I can't say no.

She grins horribly. "So, do we have a wager?"

"I believe we do, dear sister. And I'll take your finest bottle of brandy as the reward, thank you."

"Spoilsport. In that case, you can clean all my weapons. By hand."

"I expected nothing less from you."

If there is one flaw with Bailey's plan, it is that it being her idea, rather than Gabriel's, means that she is the one who has to present it Freddie. The thought of having to ask permission for anything makes her grind her teeth. Freddie would expect her to report to him, him having been spoilt by Gabriel's insane ways with bureaucracy and duty. As if one could report on family!

She quashes a quiet voice that says she does not wish to confront this because she doesn't know who to expect: Freddie or the King. Bailey will never admit it, not even to herself, but that thought makes her take a deep breath as she forces herself to knock on the door rather than barging in.

"Bailey! How are you?" She is heartened to see a surprised grin on Freddie's face. It is a tired grin, though, and Bailey can see the shadows under his eyes. She is not one for mothering, but she has to suppress the urge to give her brother a hug and put him to bed.

"Probably better than you, from the look of it," she says brusquely.

Freddie's grin turns sheepish. "That bad? The paperwork is endless, but Gabriel has been working far too hard and I thought he would appreciate a break for the day..." But no breaks for Freddie. How long has it been since he slept properly, she wonders? "I've been so busy that I appear to have forgotten my manners as well - please, take a seat." He attempts to clear off one of the chairs for her to sit on. Once, he might have swept the papers to the floor in his haste; now they are carefully placed in an appropriate pile on his desk.

She is not sure what to make of her brother's behaviour, with its mix of kingly habits and what seems almost like anxiousness to please her and see her reaction. It's almost as if her brother has been replaced by a insecure imposter. As if her stare asks a question, Frederick murmurs, "I am delighted that you came to see me. No one visits me except for business, and I do not see our siblings aside from Gabriel at all." Both of them hear the unsaid words: ''I do not know who I am now. I do not know how my siblings feel about this. Am I one of them, or the King?''

But she has come to ask him for a favour, not to visit because he is family. How can she pretend and ask about his feelings instead? They stare at each other for a little longer, then she clears her throat and the moment of tension passes. "It is about our siblings, actually."

"Are their fencing lessons proceeding well?"

"Well...terribly." Frederick winces, but Bailey has never been able to break news gently. "You can imagine how Woton and Gabriel get along."

"I suspected as much, but Woton is a boy - nearly a man - and comes before Cressida in the succession. He must learn how to fence, and Gabriel is the best there is. I doubt there is anyone else who can teach him discipline."

"I don't think anyone can teach that young idiot discipline," she harrumphs. "Mother always spoiled him, and then we let him run freely into that court of his after they died."

"He will learn," Fredericks says firmly. "Additionally, I thought it would be a kindness for you and Cressida to have lessons together."

"A...kindness?" She seems taken aback by this.

"You are fond of her, of course, and your formidable reputation will allow her to develop the appearance of being able to defend herself, without placing her in too much danger or exposing her to the roughness of training with the noble boys. Doubtless she prefers her ladylike arts to fencing, but with a family member it might be tolerable."

Bailey opens and shuts her mouth a few times, momentarily speechless.

"I'd imagine her lessons are proceeding tolerably, from this. She is always an eager student, no?"

"You are completely, utterly wrong." And stop trying to be Gabriel, she bites back.

"What? Bailey-"

"I'm awful with her. I'm more than "fond" of her; I coddle her and can't provide her with what she needs." She doesn't know what she should be feeling: angry with Freddie, yelling names at him? Miserable over having to admit that she has failed again, in the one area which she is supposed to excel in? Simply tired of it all?

"Do you think it would be better to assign one of the court instructors to her, then?"

"No! They'd treat her as a lady as well, with all the mincing about precious Cressida. It would be even worse."

"What is it that you think she needs?" says Frederick, exasperated. "I can't believe Cressida would wish to tumble into some roughhouse, or to be treated like one of Rodger's playmates."

"Treat her like she's strong." She raises a hand to halt his questions. "I can't explain it, precisely. I can't even talk to Cressida about it, or treat her the way she needs. I just know that I'm not what she needs."

"Bailey, if you are having so much trouble with Cressida's lessons and communicating with her, why do you think you truly understand what she requires? I am her guardian now, and am seeing to that. She seems perfectly happy as she is."

"You don't know, do you?" asks Bailey quietly. Her voice wavers slightly, but Frederick detects none of her usual rage in it. She sounds disappointed in him, he realises with shock.

"Did you know that after our parents died, she came to my room every night for three months? During the day she never, ever cried. But at night time, she'd wake up and walk over to my side. I know because one time I woke up when she did it, and her cheeks were wet. I watched her more closely over the following nights: she was always crying as silently as she could." Bailey balls her fists and grimaces. "But she would check up on me, to make sure I hadn't disappeared."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you became the King." At his wince, she amends, "All right, you know me. That wouldn't have stopped me from telling you. Cressie asked me not to. She's used to being overlooked, she said, and didn't want to worry you."

"She hid all of this from us..."

"What did you expect? You told her to be brave. Everyone was busy fitting together the right image for the foreigners and nobles, so they wouldn't attack us. So she learnt quickly." There's a fierce pride in Bailey's voice, along with accusation. Perhaps the two sisters aren't so different, after all.

Frederick pictures Cressida, who already has as much poise at the age of eleven as most debutantes. Suddenly her dedication to her studies, the air of delicacy she cultivates, the prettiness of her embroidery and art all slots together. ''Everything she does, she does to please those around her. I wonder if she holds any opinions that are true to herself'', he thinks sadly. But the King's voice whispers to him about the potential in her future. A perfect courtesan, to charm any noble. A perfect bride. The King's voice sounds less like his father and more like himself every day.

"What would you have me do?" he asks.

Bailey seems to struggle with herself for a few moments. When she speaks, the words are ground out and reluctant. It sounds a lot more like her usual self, and Frederick feels oddly relieved. "Give her to Gabriel. He's more talented than I am at fencing. Better than you, too. So she won't be stuck with second-best. She'll flower under our brother's attention, and he has other things to teach her."

He is surprised by how much sense Bailey is making, and how much it must cost her to say these words. No matter how long I know my siblings, I suspect they will always surprise me, he thinks ruefully. He finds himself murmuring, "I wish Mother were here. Dances, etiquette, diplomacy: these are all the things a mother should teach a young girl. But Rodger keeps Antoinette's hands full..."

She snorts. "Gabe's as close as we've got. He's always been Mother's favourite, and has learnt all of her "special arts". Our precious Cressie will love picking those up, won't she? He'll give our rose some thorns."

"That leaves you stuck with Woton, though. Are you sure about that, Bailey? Or is tormenting him part of your reward in this?"

"I deserve some fun, don't I?" she says, then scowls at his glare. "Gods knows what that boy is becoming. He needs to have some sense knocked into him. And you...you seem more like Father every time I look at you."

"And what about you, Bailey?" Frederick asks softly, and tries to see her truly, beyond the veil of sisterhood. A young woman, but one who would never fit into balls and societies. Too tall, with a harsh face and a blunt tongue. Few could see the elegance she had on the battlefield, that the way she stood spoke of strength and readiness. All they saw was someone who stood too straight and rigidly, not with the demure grace of lady, and who wore a dress as awkwardly as a scarecrow. She didn't bother with subtleties, and so they thought she was too dull to perceive them. And that traitor husband of hers, for whom she had thrown away so much, only to be thrown away in turn...

"I'm just Bailey. That's all. Now, can Gabe and I make the swap?"

"Of course. Thank you for speaking with me about everything. You know Cressida best, so perhaps you could suggest some ways-"

But Bailey is already on her feet and moving away, with only a curt nod as a token of respect. At the door, she pauses only briefly. "I miss our parents too." Then she is gone.



Cressida sits on the lone chair in the fencing court (specially padded and embroidered and brought for her, she scowls), moodily kicking her heels against its legs as she waits for her sister. She knows she shouldn't be doing this, but no one is around to see it. She gives an extra hard kick against it to cement her rebellion.

"Hello, Cressida." Startled, she looks up to see Gabriel with a small smile on his face.

"El- elder brother!" she stutters, scrambling to get up and curtsey. "I am sorry, I was in a reverie waiting for our sister...is something wrong?"

Gabriel is still wearing a strange smile on his face. "No, but I will be teaching you fencing from now on."

She nods, unsure of what to say. Fencing...with Gabriel. He terrifies her, she realises.

"Are you ready to begin? Good. Oh, and Cressida, please do not kick chairs."

Woton stares up in horror. "You?"

"Yes, me!" says Bailey, laughing ugly. "I'm your new teacher until...ever? Well, until you learn how to fence properly, but that's close to forever."

"Oh gods."

undefinedAuthor's note: please imagine Bailey ugly laughing echoing onwards from the end of this chapter.