Chapter Text
Logan grinned at the noise as he walked into his mother's bedroom. Another mirror shattered as she hurled a silver goblet across the room.
"Get out!" screamed the Queen, and the hapless doctor fled before her wrath, fully aware that she could have killed him numerous times in the last few minutes.
Fearless, Logan sauntered up to his mother and kissed her on the cheek. "What's got you so angry, Mother?"
Walter coughed nervously as the Queen stalked away, her face still twisted with fury. "It seems that Her Highness is... with child."
Logan choked back a laugh. "What? Seriously?" He looked at his mother. Her age didn't show in the trimness of her form, only in the white streaks in her dark hair. "You didn't use protection with the little Baron?"
"Why would I use protection?" she snapped, but her son could see a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. "He was a virgin, and I'm almost fifty!" The truth was that she was much older than that, but she didn't think it was necessary to mention that to her son. The stories about her youth were old, almost forgotten, and she liked it that way.
Logan laughed, knowing that his mother loved the fact that he was supremely unafraid of her. "I guess that means you should marry him," grinned Logan impishly. "Wouldn't want my little sister or brother to be born a bastard."
The Queen frowned. "I'm too old to be a mother, this is ridiculous."
"You can do anything you want," smiled Logan. "You are the Queen, after all."
"I have battles to fight," she snarled, pacing impatiently across the room. "I don't have time for this."
"I'm sure that the doctors can do something about this," said Walter reassuringly. "In fact, he probably would have offered something if you hadn't chased him out of the room."
She frowned at that, and crossed over to the window to gaze, unseeing, into the garden. She murmured something that neither man could hear.
"I did not hear what you said, Your Highness," said Walter nervously.
"It might be a girl. I've always wanted a little girl," she said softly.
"You're the Queen, Mother. Do whatever pleases you," smiled Logan, quoting her favorite saying.
The Hero Queen laughed joyously, and sat down on the couch. "Walter, go summon Baron Theodore. I have a few words to say to him," she smiled. "Logan, my son, I guess you're going to get more practical training in Kingship sooner than you thought!"
Logan looked up in surprise as the small boy toddled into the room. With a tiny squeaking noise, the little Prince ran up and hid behind his mother's skirts.
The Queen laughed indulgently, and picked him up. "What brings you to my war room, dearest?"
Zachary put his arms around her neck, and whispered something into her ear. The Queen laughed, and walked over to Logan. "You have to be brave, little Zachary. Besides," she set the boy on the floor, "he's your brother, he isn't going to hurt you." She glanced quickly at Logan, who smiled reassuringly at his little brother.
Logan reached out and ruffled the child's hair. "Hello, little brother."
"Hewwo," Zachary whispered nervously. He held out a neatly wrapped oblong box. "Happy Feastday!"
Logan was genuinely surprised. "Why, thank you," he smiled. "Should I open it now?"
Zachary nodded eagerly, and Logan opened it to reveal a beautiful antique dagger, set all over with precious stones and with archaic script etched into the shining blade.
For a moment Logan forgot that he was a Prince in the castle, and was just a warrior inspecting his new weapon. It was not only beautiful, but perfectly balanced and skillfully sharpened.
"Do you wike it, Logan?" asked Zachary nervously.
"I do," smiled Logan, and picked up the boy for a warm hug. "Thank you!"
Zachary kissed him on the cheek, surprising Logan again, and the Queen laughed.
"Now, go back to your lessons, dearest. Logan and I have work to do."
Zachary hugged his brother again, then ran to his mother for a kiss before leaving the room.
"You never sent me out of the room when I was a child," Logan observed. "You treat him like a toy."
The Queen looked calmly at him. "You were born to be the King."
Zachary ran up to his mother, then back to Jasper, then back to his mother again, babbling excitedly the entire time. The other children were no less excited, but more restrained since it wasn't their Feastday celebration and they weren't a Prince of Albion.
"Where's Logan?" demanded the little Prince. "He said he would be here!"
"Now, now, my Prince, it is a long journey from Mistpeak. He might not be back in time," said Jasper gently. "Don't wait for Logan, go and play with the other children."
"But he'd said he'd be here!" Zachary looked up at his mother. "He'll be here, won't he, Mother?"
The Queen smiled calmly. "That's the third time you've asked me, child, but my answer hasn't changed. He will be here if he gets here." Still beautiful, the Hero Queen Zorana was finally starting to show her age. She looked idly around at all the noble children, glittering in their holiday best, and Zachary ran off again – not to play, but to look eagerly out the window for any sign of his brother's expedition. The Queen smiled softly to herself. "A noble heart, and a loyal one."
"My Queen?" asked Jasper.
The Queen shook her head. "I spoke to myself, it is of no moment." She waved the butler away.
One of the little girls ran up to Zachary and coaxed him away to join the game of musical chairs. The Queen smiled in pleasure as the little boy joined the game, calming down two angry players and making everyone share fairly. They sang, and danced to the music, giggling wildly.
The Queen glanced at the window without rising, then looked back at her son.
Zachary sprang to his feet with a wild exclamation of joy, and raced out of the room before Jasper could stop him. "He's here! He's here!"
The Queen laughed under her breath as Jasper chased after his charge, then stood slowly, and followed them to the main hall.
"Logan! You're here!" Zachary flung his arms around his older brother, who laughed and picked him up, spinning the little boy around and making him scream with laughter.
"Of course I am," Logan smiled. "Did you doubt it?"
"No!" The little boy hugged him tightly. "I knew you would come! I knew you wouldn't miss my Feastday!"
"Welcome home, sir," Jasper bowed. "Shall I take your cloak?"
"Actually," grinned Logan, "could you get my gift from the carriage? It's the basket on the seat." Still carrying Zachary in one arm, Logan walked up to his mother to greet her. "Mother, dear, you look tired."
"It's a room full of seven-year olds. The conversation has focused chiefly on rabbits, candy, ponies, and frogs for the last two hours." The Queen sighed. "Did I mention the candy?"
Zachary giggled, and Logan laughed. He offered his arm to his mother, and she took it gratefully as they returned to the ballroom and the party.
"Now, where do you suppose Jasper has gotten to?" smiled Logan. "Ah, there he is." Logan set his little brother down, and took the basket from Jasper, who glared angrily at the Prince Regent. "What?" said Logan innocently, then laughed and set the basket before Zachary. "Happy Feastday, little brother!"
Confused, the little boy pulled away the blanket, then stared, his eyes wide with wonder and joy.
The puppy yawned, then shook itself as it slowly woke up. The little boy was the first thing it saw, and the puppy eagerly sprang forward, and licked him on the cheek, then barked cheerfully before jumping into his arms.
Logan smiled at the look on Zachary's face. The little boy was speechless with gratitude, almost overcome with happiness.
The Queen smiled, a little sadly, remembering a friend of her own. She gently stroked the little boy's hair, smoothing it back into place, and let the puppy lick her fingers curiously.
"I shall go make arrangements for the care and feeding of the young Prince's new companion. Please excuse me," sighed Jasper, and bowed himself out of the room.
The Queen leaned on her sword, panting heavily from the exertion. She could sense it, the impending silence drawing closer and closer. She forced it back, forced herself to stay standing. She was a Hero, and a Queen, and she was not done yet. Not quite. "Logan..." she said quickly, "where is Logan? Where is my son?"
One of the nearby soldiers turned and ran, shouting for the Prince.
The Queen smiled to herself. She could hear the awe in the man's voice. It was one thing to hear tales of how one Hero could hold off an entire army single-handed. It is quite another to be standing behind the Hero when that happens. She longed to sit down on the pile of bodies surrounding her, she longed to rest and let the silence take her. Instead, she tightened her grip on her sword, forced herself to stay upright. She would not let him find her old, tired, and weak. He would see her as he had always seen her - strong, proud, and fearless.
"Mother!" Logan ran up to her, deftly avoiding the slick patches of blood on the path. He moved as if he would support her, but instead found himself clasped in her strong arms. "Mother...."
Walter had followed Logan down the path, but stopped at the sight of her. Was it her wounds that gave him pause, she wondered, or was it the scene of carnage just beyond?
"My son," she said softly, and kissed his cheek. Try as she might, she couldn't keep a note of possessive pride from her voice. "My Logan."
For a moment, he didn't understand what she was doing, then he felt the weight of the crown on his brow, and felt her hug him again.
"The King that Albion needs," she whispered. "And if their needs change, well, they can make another one," she laughed, blood spilling from her lips. "But this one, this one is mine!"
It wasn't the savage, bloody wounds that made him think it, or her age, or even the unusual softness of her voice. It was the sound of her sword falling to the earth that told Logan that his mother was dead. The woman who still answered to 'Blade' before 'Zorana' had finally let go of her beloved sword - so that she could put her arms around her beloved son. Silently, Logan lifted her into his arms, shocked at how small and frail she seemed. It was as if the magnificent light that had always filled her had not only faded away, but had taken away some of her physical body as well.
"Your Highness?"
"She's dead, Walter," said Logan with a calmness that he didn't entirely feel. "Pick up her weapons. She would want them to rest with her."
Walter picked up the sword and her guns. "The Queen may be gone, Your Highness, but the crown endures. Long live the King," said Walter firmly. The cry was repeated by the soldiers nearby, then picked up by the men beyond, and farther, until the entire battlefield rang with the proud paean of loyalty.
Logan, the blood-stained crown heavy on his brow, bowed his head to his men, and surreptitiously kissed his mother for the last time.