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josefavomjaaga · 3 years

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Helfert, Joachim Murat, Chapter 6, Part 3

We left with Murat kinda hiding in the open on Corsica while fantasizing about sneaking into the royal palace of Naples.

A flicker of prudence came over him when he decided to send one of his confidants, Simone Cambruschini from Bastia, who was to visit Elba and Naples: there to contact General Dalesme, the commandant of the French garrison left behind by Napoleon; here to obtain information about the prevailing mood in the city and the country. But weeks would pass before the messenger could return with his news, and was Murat, once his head was on fire, the man to bide his time?

Elsewhere in Europe, it was not known for a long time what had become of the ex-king. On 23 July, London papers had brought the news that he had left Toulon, but they did not know where he had gone. Some thought he had gone to Tunis, and Murat himself had helped to spread this rumour; others had him sailing for America; the third wanted to know that he was near Paris, in Fontainebleau, in Compiègne. According to still other rumours, he was lying near Lyon - the country house of the president of the Court of Appeal was called Vouti - mortally ill from wounds he had received, or was wandering about on land or at sea.

Here, again, there is a somewhat cryptic source in a footnote:

M*** Vie de Joa. Murat p. 95 f., probably written in September, at any rate before the bloody drama in Pizzo: "Murat ne parait pas s'être éloigné de la Provence"; he is said to have spent some time in Antibes and then been in Toulon, "enfermé avec divers corps armés qui, comprimant le voeu bien prononcé du peuple, méconnaissaient encore l'autorité du Roi ... Il erre maintenant dans des montagnes déguisé sous des vêtements communs et suivi, dit-on, de deux seuls domestiques". The "Journal du Departement du Var", on the other hand, brought the news that Murat, who had pretended to be a naval officer named Campomele, had been recognised and arrested on his arrival in Bastia.

The text continues:

In the meantime, without paying attention to such groundless talk, diplomacy in Paris dealt with the future fate of the dethroned king. According to a document signed by Prince Metternich on September 1st, Emperor Franz offered him admission and protection in his states, provided that he accepted a private title, possibly the one chosen by his wife, and undertook not to leave his place of residence without first obtaining the consent of the emperor. A passport for him was also issued on the 7th under that name "von Lipona", "in order to go from southern France to Trieste", by the Imperial and Royal Court Chancellor Count Mercy, signed by the English envoy Lord Steward.... It was previously related that Colonel Maceroni, whom Murat had sent from Toulon to the Duke of Wellington, had been arrested in Paris; the latter was now brought out of his custody and entrusted with the task of delivering the two documents to his former king and master. Maceroni left without delay for the south, where it was already known that Murat had succeeded in escaping to Corsica, and that is where the colonel went in the second half of September, first to Bastia.

In Naples, too, people were not only aware of Murat's presence in Corsica at this time, they also suspected that he was up to no good against the kingdom. Perhaps it was precisely Lambruschini's mission, whose appearance and covert reconnaissance could not have escaped the attention of the police, that caused the first unrest in Neapolitan government circles. Lambruschini had reached Porto-Ferrajo on September 1st at a time when General Dalesme, in accordance with an agreement concluded with the Tuscan troops, was about to evacuate the island. The first part of his mission had thus come to an end and only the second remained: to find out the prevailing mood for the ex-king on the Italian mainland. Consequently, he had gone to Livorno, to Florence, to Rome, September 8 to 11, where he endeavoured to put his travel documents into order so as to be able to sneak into Naples. It is certain that both in the capital and in Gaëta, still occupied by Lauer's troops, fears were harboured in the second half of September about Murat's activities in Corsica and from Corsica. On the 18th, our envoy had a lengthy discussion on this matter with the King, to whom he advised: first, to have several larger warships cruise along the most exposed stretches of coast from Gaëta to Terracina, then along the Calabrian shores; second, to reinforce the garrison of Gaëta with Sicilian troops; third, to have the forts of Naples provisioned for at least a fortnight. It does not appear, however, that these precautionary measures were carried out in any great hurry; at least there was no sign of frigates crossing the coasts for a long time. On the other hand, the Minister Medici sent a trusted man, Ignazio Carabelli, in a hurry to Corsica, from where he was a native, with the order to approach Murat and to talk him out of any hostile enterprise against King Ferdinand.

Lambruschini did not arrive in Naples until September 28th, where he had secret talks with both General Filangieri and the banquier Falconet, both of whom implored him to leave the city as quickly as possible, since the police could track him and them down and the mood in the country was such that his patron should not entertain any favourable expectations. At this, Lambruschini, after barely a four-day stay in Naples, left for Rome again, with the firm resolution to dissuade the king in the strongest possible terms from carrying out his foolhardy plan.

But in the meantime everything had changed on Corsica. Verrière had retreated to the Citadelle in the face of Murat's daily growing number of followers and, on September 15, issued an appeal in which he called Murat a "disturber of the peace", an "agitator" and called on the loyal followers of King Louis to take up arms and be ready to march out against the high-treasonous gatherings in Vescovato.

Now Murat too believed that he should no longer delay. On the 17th, he set off with his men from their previous base, but not to Bastia, but over mountains and valleys in short marches to Ajaccio. On the 20th they camped for the night in Bogognano, from where Murat sent General Franceschetti on ahead to Ajaccio to hire vehicles in the harbour for the crossing, but also to find money and bills of exchange, as the funds he had taken with him on his escape from Naples were running out. It was also in Bogognano that Murat dictated into the pen of his secret scribe a very verbose manifesto, which he intended to distribute on entering the soil of his kingdom. "Neapolitans," it said, among other things, 'do not fear that the allied powers will arm themselves anew against your king. Your Joachim never abdicated. A military failure could not make him lose the crown of Naples. By regaining his throne, he only imitates the example of the sovereigns who have regained theirs. The Emperor of Austria, who, misled as to the true policy of the Cabinet of Naples, and thinking that your Joachim was in agreement with Napoleon, has overtaken him with such a disastrous war, will again become his ally, do not doubt it." He spoke of his conciliatory disposition, with a scarcely veiled sidelong glance at Ferdinand who, as his courtiers had always told him, was nothing but a hateful tyrant: "Your King does not speak to you of forgiveness, you have never offended him, he rather renews the oath he made to you in former times: to make you happy. He will not be like those who pause only for the moment with their revenge, in order then to allow it to shoot the reins all the more freely". This was followed by outbursts at Ferdinand's letter to Bianchi, in which Murat's troops were spoken of in a contemptuous manner, at the treaty of May 20: "the castle of Casa Lanza, this monument to Ferdinand's disgrace, shall be razed to the ground, and Ferdinand, who has called your brave army covered with glory a bunch of enemy bands, shall be declared by the nation unworthy to govern it and deprived of the throne!"

Sometimes I wonder if these men, as they had grown up in the army, simply were mistaken about the little importance military matters had for most civilians, particularly in times when everybody was so war-weary. I do not think many people outside the army were ready to rise up against a king because he had talked badly about the army.

But seeing how so many people actually tried to save Murat’s life, with him actively working towards his own distruction, is heartbreaking.

#joachim murat #napoleon #hunderd days #naples1815 #corsica #1815 #helfert murat

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bazypitchandsimonsnow · 6 years

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The Black Swan

Chapter 9

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word count: 7268

Chapter: 9/17 (All chapters)

Summary: Baz and Simon deal with the aftermath of the festival. And Simon makes a shocking discovery.

Read on AO3

AN: This chapter is a bit weird but bare with me, alright? Hope you guys like it!

———————————————

Simon tried to write it down himself, to pay attention, but his mind wandered as always. He despised his governance studies, and the private lessons with David were particularly tortuous. So his quill kept drifting to the margins of his parchment. His doodles started off as random lines, but quickly they formed the vague shape of a mouth. A thin mouth, with shiny teeth and a secret smile, who’s possible taste Simon was still thinking about days later.

“Simon!” David barked, making the prince jolt so hard his knees banged sourly against the desk. “Pay attention! This is your future we’re learning about.”

Simon sunk into his chair, fidgeting with his feathered quill. “I know, Father.”

“How do you expect to be a king if you won’t even learn diplomacy?”

I never asked to be king, Simon wanted to yell. But he knew yelling at his adoptive father got him nowhere. So he simply shrugged. David shook his head.

“Look,” the king sighed, “I know diplomacy isn’t as exciting as magic or sword fighting. But it’s necessary for when you take the throne. You need to know how to rule strongly, so you can handle Watford when I’m gone.”

“But you’re not going anywhere anytime soon. I don’t have to worry, right?”

David shook his head even more. He walked up and put his hands on Simon’s desk, looming over his heir like a very perturbed statue. “Don’t be naive, Simon. There are enemies everywhere for a king. I could be killed after I walk out of this room! You have to be ready for my death at all times, or you will be caught off guard and Watford will be left without a strong ruler, as well as someone to carry on my legacy. You’ll have to tell the same to your’s and Lady Wellbelove’s children. Every king has to.”

“Great pep talk, Davy,” Simon murmured.

“What was that?” David glared even harder.

Simon sank further into his chair. “Nothing, Father. I’ll pay attention now.”

“You should have been paying attention from the start, but very well.” He went back to the board. He tapped his wand under “STRENGTH” once more “This is the most important trait when negotiating. Strength is what everyone respects universally, no matter what you say.”

Simon underlined “strength” three times on the parchment. He listened and listened, and tried to figure out how much of it he actually believed. David was a good king. He must know what he was talking about. But it didn’t sit well with Simon, not all of it. Being strong, a wall, listening to no one and barreling through. It had worked for him. Simon thought it was better to be cautious and ask others, but David didn’t. But...

“Don’t try to be like David, Si. Be like you.”

Simon didn’t know what he wanted to be like. All he knew was that he really didn’t want to be here right now. He wanted to be back at the festival, eating sweets, dancing his heart out, kissing a strange boy before the sun came up.

“Now, you better start packing, we’ll be off first tomorrow morning.”

Simon’s head bolted up. “Wait what? Are we going somewhere?”

David sighed and shook his head. “Yes, Simon. We’re going to the west. There have rumblings of rebellion from the region, but an appearance by the king and crown prince will put those to rest. I already told you about this.”

“N-No you didn’t!”

“Yes,” he growled. “I did. You probably just weren’t paying attention.”

Simon curled in on himself, picking at his nails. “I-I guess. How long are we going to be there?”

“As long as we have to be. What, do you have somewhere else you need to be?”

The way David asked the question suggested there was only one answer, no matter what the truth was. Simon let his head fall, staring at his lap and shaking hands. “No, Father.”

David made an approving sound. “Good. Make sure you’re well packed and ready to ride. You’re dismissed for today.”

Simon stood up and nodded. “Thank you, Father.”

He walked out of the room with his head still down. He kept walking through the halls, trying to keep his composure. And the second he was in his room, Simon grabbed his sword and started battling the air. Simon channeled all his fury into every slash and stab into nothing. He did that until his arm was sore, then let it fall. The tip of his sword made the tiniest clink on the stone floor. It was loud in the room, save for Simon’s harsh breathing.

Simon didn’t want to go to the west. He didn’t want to not see Baz for ages. Just the thought of it made his heart ache. But he was going to have to go. And he’d have to tell Baz. That made the ache even worse.

———————————————

“Hey.”

Simon turned around. Baz was already standing there, hands behind his back, small smile tugging at his lips. Those lips that Simon hadn’t stopped thinking about for days. His stomach fluttered. He couldn’t help but smile himself.

“Hey,” he said. “How are you?”

“Better.” He tapped his bruise, which had faded to a much smaller purple stain. “This thing is almost gone, thankfully.”

“That’s good. Glad to hear it.”

Baz nodded then quickly looked at the ground, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. Simon gulped, because he was very sure Baz’s cheeks were red. It was still hard to see the colour on him, sure, but it was almost certainly there. Simon didn’t know what to do. Grab his hand? Tell him about his trip? Kiss him to make up for what they missed out on? But it wasn’t that night anymore. The high was gone. Simon was nervous beyond belief. He had no idea what to do. And from the look on Baz’s face, neither did he.

Maybe the only thing to do was to do what was normal.

He dropped his bag and quickly scooped up a long stick. “Wanna duel? I’m feeling confident about winning tonight.”

Baz’s brow furrowed for a moment. But when Simon poked Baz’s chest, the other boy sighed, picked up his own stick, and crossed their swords. “Very well. As long as you’re prepared to lose.”

Simon grinned, and made the first jab. Baz parried him with practiced ease. They fell into their usual rhythm. Slashing, blocking, giving ground then snatching it back. But right now, the steps reminded Simon far too much of their dancing. His mind kept going back to the last time they moved liked this, spinning and flying across the ground like it was as natural as breathing. When Baz’s arm was tight around his waist, when they had been so close and so happy. Simon wanted all that again, not sparring. So his slashes were weak, he barely blocked, and he gave far more ground than usual.

It took him a few minutes, but Simon realised Baz wasn’t trying that hard either. The other’s boys sword work was just as lackluster. Neither of them wanted this. So Simon lowered his sword, and Baz quickly followed. They stared at each other. It was clear both were unsure what to do.

“So,” Baz said slowly. “Want to talk?”

Simon nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

They both tossed their sticks to the side. Instead of walking to the lake, Baz walked to his cottage. Simon followed behind. They sat down with backs against the wall. And Simon couldn’t help but notice how closer they were. One wrong (or right) move, and he’d be holding Baz’s hand again. He wouldn’t mind though. He wouldn’t mind one bit.

“How are you?” Simon asked. It was a simple question on the surface, but so much bubbled under the surface. They hadn’t talked since the festival. Simon had no idea how Baz felt after what happened after they dashed through the woods, after their almost kiss.

Baz seemed to know the meaning. He took in a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “I’m alright. It was a bit scary, I won’t lie. But I’m okay now.”

Simon wasn’t fully convinced. He shuffled a minuscule amount closer, cautiously brushing his fingers over the back of Baz’s hand. Baz barley reacted, except with maybe some more colour in his cheeks. “Are you sure? You can tell me.”

Baz sighed again. “I really am, Simon, don’t worry. Even if it had a rough end, I had a really fun night. Thank you for it.”

Simon’s pulse fluttered. He felt so proud and so unsure how to cope with it. He wasn’t used to being thanked. “Y-You’re welcome then, I guess. I’m glad you had fun, I did too.”

“We should, um,” Baz looked away, obviously embarrassed, “maybe...do something like that again soon. I think you’re right, I do need to get out of here more. Maybe we can go explore without the excuse of the festival.”

Simon’s eyes went wide. His mind was racing, thinking of all the things him and Baz could do together outside of this lake. Go town late at night, climb a hill, just run as fast as their feet could take them. It was exhilarating. But...there was David....

“Y-yeah,” he replied. “That’d be great. But...” Baz’s face fell. Simon’s heart broke instantly. He put his other hand over Baz’s squeezing firmly. “No, no no, I’m not saying no. I want to go and do that, most definitely. But it just might not be for a bit.” Baz’s brow furrowed. “My guardian, he’s taking me on a trip out west. So I’m going to be gone for awhile.”

Baz’s face fell again, but in a different way. Not heartbroken, just plain old sad. He was sad that Simon wouldn’t be around. It made something both soar and shatter in Simon all at once. He didn’t want Baz to feel anything bad, but a small part of him was strangely happy that Baz could be sad over him. Baz looked down at their hands, then flipped his over, fingers curling around one of Simon’s.

“When do you leave?” he asked softly.

Simon swallowed, staring at their hands. “Tomorrow morning.”

Baz’s shoulders slumped. “And how long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know. My guardian won’t say. At least a week, probably longer.”

“I see.”

Baz’s voice was even, but his hand was so tight. He couldn’t hide his feelings from Simon at this point. And it made Simon feel horrible. So he reached behind himself and grabbed his bag. He rummaged around for a moment, then pulled out what he had brought from his room before he snuck out.

“Here,” he said. “to keep you company while I’m gone.”

It was a large book with a red leather cover. It was an analysis of the interaction between societal norms and economic policies by Natasha Grimm-Pitch. Simon wanted to doze off every time he looked at it. But he knew Baz would love it. And he was right, considering how Baz’s mouth fell open and his eyes went very wide. He balanced the book on his knees, tracing the gold letters.

“This is incredible,” Baz whispered. “Where did you find this?”

“My friend gave it to me awhile ago. I hate reading stuff like it, but I thought you’d appreciate it more than me.”

Baz chuckled, the sound low and amused. “You assumed correctly. I’ll enjoy it greatly.” He looked at Simon again, smile crinkling the corners of his eyes, cheeks certainly red. “Thank you, Simon.”

Simon grinned back. His heart fluttered again. By all the Gods, he wanted to kiss that beautiful smile on Baz’s face. He could feel his face heating up at just the thought of it. But he was leaving. He didn’t want to kiss Baz then leave him alone for possibly weeks. Baz deserved better than that.

“You’re welcome, Baz,” he said. He was the one who shifted their hands this time, weaving their fingers together. Baz clutched him tight. “You won’t have to read it for long though. I’ll be back. I promise, Baz, I’ll come back.”

Baz didn’t stop smiling, but his eyes were more than just happy. They were kind, understanding. There was so much contained in the deep sea galaxy of his gaze. And Simon never wanted to look away.

“I’m not worried,” he said quietly. “I know you’ll come back, Simon.”

Simon’s mouth became dry. His heartbeat was thundering in his ears. He tried to memorised the gorgeous look on Baz’s face. That image in his mind would be the only thing to help him get him through the upcoming tortuous journey.

“And I always will,” he replied.

That was a promise he didn’t plan on breaking.

———————————————

The trip itself wasn’t too bad. It only took a day and a half with a stay at lower lord’s house overnight. Simon rode in his own carriage and slept most of the way. It was nice to not have David nagging him the entire time. He’d almost call it peaceful, if his dreams weren’t filled with his recurring nightmares and the occasional flash of Baz’s face.

But once they reached the edge of Canterbury, the capital of the western province, everything got so much worse. David made Simon ride next to him on horse. Simon hated horseback riding. Saddles were uncomfortable, horses didn’t listen to him, and it was all made so much worse by his itchy prince clothes.

“Why do I have to wear this?” Simon asked, voice dangerously close to a whine. “They’re not good for riding.”

“Because we need to make an impression, Simon,” David said with his nose in the air. “We need to remind them that we are their sovereign rulers, and disobedience won’t be tolerated.”

Something about made Simon flinch. He remembered the matron’s words. Listen to me, Simon, she would yell, and do what I say. Simon thought those kind of strict orders went away when you grew up. But maybe the orders just started to come from someone higher up and further away. That was kind of what a king was supposed to do. Simon didn’t want to do that. He didn’t even want to be a hero right now. He just wanted to see Baz again. Yet here he was, wearing his embroidered green tunic and golden circlet, and absolutely loathing every minute of it.

The royal procession walked through the main thoroughfare. Simon had to work very hard to keep his horse in line. He did his best to wave politely to the crowd anyway, while David did the same and kept his stern composure. The streets were reasonably filled with people, but there was no cheering. They merely clapped politely. And when Simon looked at their gaunt faces, none of them were smiling. Most of them were blank, void of any emotion, and a few even looked angry. What disturbed Simon the most was that some of their expressions reminded him of Baz. So many had a distant sadness sitting in their eyes. Simon’s heart felt tight.

They arrived at the manor, where they were greeted by Lord and Lady Stainton and their daughter Philippa. Philippa went to school with Simon and roomed with Agatha. They weren’t super close but they spoke a few times. Simon always suspected she had affection for him. He was nervous to see her again. But when he dismounted and stood in front of her, Philippa was nothing but courteous. She followed her parents, curtsying and bowing her head low.

“Welcome to Canterbury, your majesty and your highness,” Lord Stainton said. “We are honoured to have you in our home.”

“As you should,” David replied curtly.

Lord Stainton seemed a bit thrown off by that response. He cleared his throat and straightened even more. “Of course. We’ll have the servants bring your bags to your quarters. Would you like to see the most recent reports?”

“Of course. Simon, come along.”

Simon followed a distance behind the actual adults. Philippa was beside him, hands linked in front of her skirt politely. He leaned a closer to her.

“It’s good to see you too, Lady Stainton,” he whispered. “How are you?”

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, your highness,” she replied. “I’m well. Thank you for asking.”

Simon wanted to ask more, ask her what she’s been doing since school. But they entered the conference room, and David gave Simon a look that said, “come here now.” Simon scurried forward to stand at his father’s side. They took the head seats that were supposed to be for the Lord and Lady. But the King always got the best seat no matter where he was. Lord Stainton took a moment to look down at Simon sitting in his seat, then spread out a large map on the oak conference table. It showed the western province with a few red marks.

“There have been problems here, here, and here,” Lord Stainton said. He kept speaking of uprisings, of who the leaders were, how they were handling it. Simon listened as best as he could. The biggest thing he noticed was that Lord Stainton never mentioned the reason for these uprisings.

“I see,” David said thoughtfully, stroking his mustache. “We’ll go to these towns and you’ll voice your support for me. I’ll speak well enough to quash these rebellions. Prince Simon will stay here to keep a presence in the capital. Understood?”

“Understood, your majesty,” Lord and Lady Stainton said simultaneously. Simon had to hold back a groan. So they came all this way so Simon could sit around in a different annoyingly large building, one far enough away that he couldn’t sneak out to see Baz or Penny. If there was a Hell, Simon was sure he was living in it.

“Good. The Crown Prince and I shall rest before dinner.”

“Of course,” Lord Stainton said. “Rest well, your majesty.”

“We will.” He stood up and beckoned with his hand. “Come, Simon.”

Simon nodded and stood. “T-Thank you for the rooms, Lord and Lady Stainton,” he said as confidently as he could.

The three nobles smiled kind and bowed their heads. “You’re welcome, your highness” Lady Stainton said weirdly cautiously.

Simon smiled back. But as they walked away to their quarters, Simon felt David’s hand grab the back of his jacket. Simon yelped and choked slightly. He looked up at David. The king glared at him with unmasked fury.

“Do not speak out of turn,” he growled. "Understood?"

Simon gulped. His palms were suddenly sweaty. He nodded. “Y-Y-Yes, sir.”

David let go. His mask returned. “Good. Go to your quarters.”

“Yes, Father.”

Simon took the smaller room while David entered the larger one. Simon breathed a sigh of relief the second the door was closed. David didn’t hit him, sure, but he never had to. He was intimidating enough without leaving a mark.

Simon’s brass trunk sat in the middle of the room with his rucksack on top. He wished he knew which servants brought it up. The trunk was very heavy, he wanted to at least thank them, maybe even give them a few coins. He’d try to find them later. First of all, he opened up his travel bag, and pulled out his leather bound sketch book. Simon flopped down on the large page as he flipped through the pages, and he soon landed on his destination. He stared at his latest sketch of Baz for far too long. He hovered over the drawing, tracing the drawing’s features with a hovering finger. His dark wavy hair, his pretty eyes, his barely there smile. Simon missed Baz like he would miss the sun if it went out. And he’d definitely be counting the days until he saw him again.

———————————————

The Canterbury Manor wasn’t that bad, really. It wasn’t as big as Watford Castle, but it was still sizable, and everyone was nice. Lady Stainton was a good host. She made pleasant conversation with Simon at meals, despite her obvious discomfort with him. Simon was used to it. She didn’t look down on him with contempt like her husband, but obviously didn’t know exactly how to act around the common born prince, especially when David wasn’t around. Philippa was nice too, but she had private tutoring that took most of her time as well. He tried to talk to servants, but they were all too intimidated by his presence to hold any sort of conversation.

So Simon spent his days mostly alone, switching between wandering, sketching, and practicing his sword work at the training ground. He tried to work on some new things to show Baz when he got back. But his heart wasn’t in it. His heart felt far away, left behind in Watford, in that hidden lake. It was a foreign feeling for Simon, and no matter how much it hurt, he didn’t want it to go away. He wanted anything that reminded him of Baz.

He was practicing a new blocking technique when the door opened and he stopped. His eyes met Philippa’s, and she jolted back.

“Oh, hello, your highness,” she said nervously. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were here. I’ll go-”

“No!” Simon called out. Philippa turned back around, looking very shocked. “Uh, you don’t have to go. It’s your grounds, and you’re here to practice, right?”

It was a fair assumption. Philippa was wearing a loose tunic and trousers, something uncommon for women in Watford, unfortunately. (Penny was constantly railing against that.) Philippa looked down, hands clasped in front of her. “Yes, but you may have the ground, your highness.”

Simon sighed. He sheathed his sword and stepped towards her, though still a respectable distance away. “Philippa, look up,” he said. She raised her eyes but not her head. “You don’t have to do that. King David isn’t here, no one is. You won’t get in trouble. We’ve known each other for years. You were Agatha’s bloody roommate. We didn’t talk a lot, sure, but I saw you all the time. You don’t have to treat me like I’m someone super important.”

“But,” she said with genuine confusion, “you’re the crown prince.”

Simon shrugged, rubbing his upper arm. “I prefer just Simon, honestly.”

Philippa finally raised her head. She looked incredibly nervous. Simon grinned as brightly as he could, and Philippa’s body visibly relaxed as she smiled back. And Simon felt a lot better.

“So what do you practice with?” Simon asked.

“Uh, longsword mostly,” she replied. “I started back at Mage’s School and I enjoyed it.”

Simon’s brow furrowed. “I thought girls weren’t supposed to learn swords at School.” (Another thing Penny railed against a lot.)

“We’re not, but I started learning from some of my male friends in secret in sixth year. I’ve tried to keep up the work ever since.”

“That’s pretty awesome.”

Philippa smiled more. “Thanks.” She shuffled her feet, rubbing a hand on her neck. “Y’know I...I heard you were really good at swords. An arrogant part of me always wanted to, um, see how good you were.”

Simon shrugged. “Well, I don’t think I’m that good. But we can duel, if you want.”

Philippa’s eyes went very wide. Her mouth fell open. “Really?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m always looking for new competition.”

Philippa chuckled. “I don’t know about that, but if you’re offering I’ll go for it.” She walked over to the armory rack and snatched two wooden practice swords. “Let’s use wood though. I don’t want to accidentally stab the heir to the throne.”

Simon laughed as he tossed his sheath off. “Yeah, that’s probably smart.”

He held out his hand. Philippa hesitated for a second, then tossed the sword to him like an old sparring partner. He caught it and walked to the centre of the ring. Philippa followed, swinging her sword back and forth with all the confidence of a pro. They faced each other equidistant apart. Simon got into his fighting stance, both hands on his hilt, feet lining up with his rolled back shoulders. Philippa did something similar.

“I hope you don’t go easy on me,” she said. “I like a challenge.”

Simon smirked, like how Baz did before their matches. “Don’t worry. So do I.”

They nodded once, and then they began.

Simon striked first, a downward slash, which Philippa blocked easily. He tried again, she blocked again. But she didn’t give ground. She held firm and Simon couldn’t move her. Philippa finally struck. She swung to the side. It wasn’t that strong, and Simon blocked, but the odd angle she used forced him to step back, foot digging into the sawdust. Philippa took the advantage, pushing forward. Simon was impressed. He quickly noticed her fighting style. What she lacked in strength she made up for in speed and technique. She was quick, precise, technical. She was a lot like Baz even though she wasn’t as as strong. And Simon knew how to fight Baz.

He pushed back at Philippa with a sizable amount of force, making her stumble. Simon didn’t give her a chance to think. He kept striking, throwing her off the rhythm, pushing forward until she had to give ground. Her strikes became frantic, technique abandoned. One of her swings faltered badly, and Simon took the opportunity. He stuck his sword underneath her’s, spun around, and sent her wooden blade flying out of the ring like the world’s strangest bird. Simon didn’t point his sword at her. It felt too bragging. Philippa was out of breath, but looked strangely pleased.

“Well,” she chuckled, “I can see now why people said you were good.”

Simon chuckled as well, planting the sword in the ground. “Thanks. You’re amazing too.”

She smiled brightly, a bit of flush on her cheeks. Simon inhaled sharply. She reminded him of Baz the night before he left. He liked seeing that on Baz, but not on Philippa. He got nervous seeing it on Philippa.

“So, uh, do you just like swords or do you plan to fight a war?” Simon said jokingly, trying to alleviate the mood. But Philippa’s suddenly became very serious, her body and mouth a thin straight line. She walked out of the ring to pick up her sword. Simon followed behind her. Philippa put away the sword almost angrily, rattling all the other weapons.

“Um,” Simon said slowly, “did I say something bad? I’m sorry. I’m still bad at speaking.”

Philippa sighed. “Your hi- Simon, how much do you know about King David’s policies?”

Simon shuffled his feet. “N-Not as much as I probably should.”

“Anything about the west?”

“Not that I can remember.”

Philippa nodded thoughtfully. She turned around, arms crossed, eyes downcast. “Ever since King David took power, the taxes have gone up. It was fine at first. My family could pay them, we had enough. Eventually though, he stopped wanting money and started asking for some of our grain, which was also fine at first. But then he kept wanting more and more. And now our people have barely anything to eat. My father keeps asking him to lower the amount at the council meetings he attends, but the king keeps insisting we have enough to give away. That it's time for the lords to pay their dues, no matter how much my father tries to dispute him.” She took a deep breath and lifted her head. Her eyes were filled with determination. “So...I suppose I want to know sword fighting to protect my people when I’m Lady of Canterbury. Like I’m supposed to.”

It was Simon’s turn to be surprised. He remembered Philippa just as Agatha’s sweet, shy roommate. But either he hadn’t been paying enough attention at school or she’d changed a lot in the last year. He was thoroughly impressed by her. And thoroughly disgusted by what David was doing.

“That’s horrible,” he growled. “I-I had no idea! I thought he was just going after the really rich lords, not the common people! Gods, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s not your fault, Simon,” Philippa sighed.

“Yeah, it kinda is.” He sat down in the middle of the ring, a cloud of sawdust bursting up around him. “I should know more about Watford policy. But I don’t, because I don’t like it. And look where that’s got you and all of the West. So, I’m sorry. I’m a shit prince and I’ll be an even shittier king. You and your people deserve better.”

Philippa didn’t say anything. Simon stared at his own feet. He heard rather than saw Philippa sit next to him, sawdust blowing up in a little “puff” noise. “Would you do something like what he’s doing here?”

“Never,” Simon said automatically. “Never, absolutely not.”

“Then you’re already a better king than David.”

Simon lifted his head. Philippa was looking at him kindly. He smiled back, but still shrugged. “Thanks. The problem is I’m not sure I’d know how to do something different though. Fuck not sure I even want to be king.”

“Well, guess you don’t have much choice in that matter.”

“Guess so.” He flopped backwards on the itchy training ground floor. “Kinghood is a long way away though. I can sword fight until then.”

Philippa snorted. “Then I’ll have to challenge you again sometime.”

“I’d certainly like that.”

She flopped with him. Together stay stared at the high vaulted ceiling with its intricate lattices of stone. Philippa’s head lolled to the side. “So what else do you like to do instead of the prince stuff?”

Meet up with a snarky cursed boy who I have the inexplicable urge to snog, he wanted to say, but obviously couldn’t. Baz was his beautiful secret. Luckily there were other, smaller things in his life. “Well, sword work obviously, good food, and drawing.” He turned to look at her. “What do you like?”

Philippa made a contemplative noise. “Hm, sword work too, dresses, and, well, you’re going to think this is childish, but I love storybooks.”

Simon bolted up, a big grin across his face. “Really? Me too! I love old storybooks!”

Philippa gasped and grinned like a child with candy, sitting up as well. “Oh, amazing! Finally, someone to appreciate the collection with!”

“Collection? What collection?”

Philippa looked incredibly pleased. She jumped to her feet with impressive ease then offered her hand. Simon took it, and she hoisted him to his feet too with only a little struggle. “Just you wait, Prince Simon, your britches are going to be blown off.”

Simon had little time to question that statement before she was dragging him down the grand hall. They raced across the floors, sharply turning corners and narrowly avoiding running into things and servants alike, until they reached a set of giant double doors. Philippa let go of his hand, and pushed them wide open.

“Welcome,” she announced grandly, “to the Canterbury Library.”

Simon thought the royal library was impressive, but this was something else. The shelves were at least three times as high, nearly reaching the ceiling. Each as filled to the brim with books and scrolls of every kind. If Penny or Baz came in here, neither would go outside ever again, Simon thought. Even he could appreciate the majesty of it.

“Wow,” he whispered.

“Impressive right?” Philippa said. “Ever since the first royal palace burned down, this has been the biggest collection of books in all of Watford. My father says that’s one of the reasons King David wants to make sure we won't have rebellions. We’ve got some of the older historical and magical texts here that were lost in the fire that he occasionally needs, for negotiations and spells and such. But those are boring. Let me show you the good stuff.”

Philippa started walking to to her left. Simon trailed behind like a lost puppy. Which he certainly felt like in here. Philippa turned a corner, took another five steps, then stopped. Simon nearly ran into her, barely stopping in his tracks.

“This,” Philippa announced, “is the best part.” These shelves are lined with slimmer volumes with many coloured covers. Philippa pulled a red one off and held it out to Simon. He took it, tracing over the letters. “The Dragon Prince.” It was one he was familiar with, one he read back in the orphanage. But unlike the orphanage, this copy was pristine. There wasn’t a single scratch or tear, the letters were shining silver, and a Canterbury Cross was indented on the corner. A sign that this book belonged in this incredible place.

“It’s beautiful,” Simon said. “All of these are fairy tales?”

“These five shelves, yeah. I’ve read them all a lot.”

“Lucky. I would be here all the time.”

Philippa traced over the spines with genuine affection. “Well, you can look at as many as you while you’re here.”

Simon grinned all the way to his ears. “Thank you. I’ll definitely take you up on it.”

“Go wild. I’m happy to have someone else who can appreciate this.”

Simon took that to heart. He scanned over, pulling any title that looked interesting. Ones he knew, ones he’d never seen before. “The Red and White Queen”, “Mermaids of the Crystal Cave”, “A Beauty and Her Monster”-

Simon stopped. He stopped moving, thinking, breathing, anything. Time had frozen in place as his fingers touched the spine of a blue bound book. He read the the silver words on it over and over.

The book read, “Swan Lake.”

Simon cautiously took it. The cover had the title again, along with a silhouette of a swan floating on water. Simon took a deep but shaky breath. What was this? Could it be...?

“Simon?” Philippa asked. “Are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah,” he replied, shaking the haze from his head. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just, uh, really amazed by your books. Um, I-I’m going to go start them right now, actually. Thank you!”

“Um, you’re welcome!” Philippa called after him as he ran away.

Simon ran and didn’t stop until he got to his room, slamming the door shut immediately. He felt like he had some sort of dastardly secret. Did he? Was this even important or just some scary coincidence? It didn’t hurt to look.

Simon placed the stack of books on his bedside table and held onto Swan Lake. He stared at it for far too long, caught in excitement and nerves. Slowly, he opened to the first page.

———————————————

Once upon time in a faraway land, there lived a prince named Siegfried.

Siegfried lived a loud and carefree life. He went to parties and drank far too much ale, never caring for anyone. But on his 18th birthday, his mother told him he must choose a bride at the ball the next evening. Siegfried was forlorn over the loss of his freedom, so his friend suggested they go hunting to lift his spirits.

They went deep, deep, deep into the woods with their crossbows. Siegfried looked up to the sky, and saw a flock of swans overhead. The pair followed the swans into the darker parts of the forest. Siegfried quickly lost his friend among the trees as he followed the flock.

Soon, he came upon a crystal clear lake. The swans landed upon the water. Just as the sun set on the horizon, every bird turned into a beautiful woman dressed in white. One also wore a golden crown upon her golden hair. Siegfried was instantly enchanted by her. He emerged from his hiding spot. They were all initially scared, but Siegfried assured them that he meant no harm.

The crowned one told Siegfried that her name was Odette. She and her companions were all cursed by an evil wizard named Rothbart. They were forced to be swans during the day and only became human at night when they were landed upon the lake.

Siegfried was heartbroken at her woe. He asked if there was anyway to end this horrific curse. The only way to break the curse was more tragic than the curse itself. Someone who had never loved before had to declare their love for Odette to the world.

Siegfried almost asked to know more, but suddenly a man with yellow eyes like an owl stepped out from the shadows. It was Rothbart! Siegfried raised his bow to strike the evil wizard through his heart, but Odette stopped him. She told him that if he killed Rothbart before the curse was broken, it would be permanent. Siegfried lowered his bow and could only watch as Rothbart went by.

Odette returned to her ladies. They danced together in a circle around the water. Siegfried was dazzled beyond reason. He tried to approach them, but all the ladies were scared of his weapon. He snapped the crossbow in half, then approached Odette. He offered his hand and waited for Odette to take it. She was shy and scared at first, but Siegfried offered all of himself, and she decided to trust him. They danced the entire night together. Their feet spun and flew over the ground. Their eyes never left each other. And in the course of that night, Siegfried and Odette fell in love. But soon the sun was rising once more. Odette and her ladies became swans once more. Siegfried called to the swan in the golden crown that there would be a ball at his palace tomorrow, then he left with his broken bow in tow.

That night at the ball, Siegfried patiently waited for Odette. Other princesses tried to entice him with their wiles but he had no eyes for them. Soon, Odette walked through the doorway with an escort, dressed all in black. Siegfried’s heart soared. He asked her to dance like they did the night before. She accepted. They flew across the floor for the second time. It was enchanting and perfect. Once their dance was done, Siegfried called for the guest’s attention. He announced to them all that he loved this woman undyingly, and he would marry her. They cheered for the newly betrothed.

But when Siegfried turned to his love, he suddenly realised that she wasn’t Odette at all. Her appearance had completely changed. A loud laugh rattled out from the crowd. Odette’s escort transformed. It was Rothbart again! He told Siegfried that he had just announced that he intended to marry not Odette, but Rothbart’s daughter Odiele, magically enchanted to look like Odette. To make it worse, Rothbart showed him a vision. Odette had been watching through the window, begging for Siegfried’s attention. But he hadn’t seen her. She was now crying and running away. Siegfried was shocked and furious. He left the ball and ran to the lake.

Odette arrived at the lake. Her maidens tried to comfort her but she was heartbroken beyond repair. Siegfried arrived soon. He apologised and begged for his love’s forgiveness. Odette forgave him, but he had already declared his love for another. He could no longer break her curse. Odette decided she’d rather die than live as a swan. Siegfried didn’t want to live without her, so he decided to go with her. Hand in hand, they both fell into the lake, and they stayed until the water filled their lungs.

Little did Siegfried and Odette know, their sacrifice ended the curse on the maidens. The newly freed and grateful women watched as the lovers’ souls ascended to the heavens, together forever more.

The end.

———————————————

Simon slowly closed the book. He took a deep, shaky breath, eyes squeezed shut. The story was poorly plotted and depressing as all fuck, but that was wildly unimportant. A swan during the day, human at night, only able to turn back while on a lake. All were far too familiar to be a coincidence. Did the cloaked man take the curse from the story? Simon didn’t know if that was even possible. All he knew was that this was near identical to Baz’s story.

Except, this version had something else, something he’d been trying to find for months; a way to break the curse, a way for Baz to finally be free. But was his curse the exact same as Odette’s? Could Simon break it the way Siegfried was supposed to? Simon blushed at the very idea of it. Was that what Simon felt? He had no clue what “undying love” was supposed to feel like. But he knew he’d do anything for Baz, there was no question about that.

No matter what though, the second he got home, Simon was going to show this book to Baz.

———————————————

Simon was strangely sad to leave Canterbury a week later. He shook hands with Philippa in public, but took a private moment to hug her. He thanked her for the company and the books she was graciously letting him borrow, and promised to write when he got home. She promised to write back. Simon wanted to thank her for Swan Lake in particular, but she might ask why. Simon couldn’t explain that in the short time they had. Maybe he would tell her when this was all over, when Baz was free.

The trip back was the same length, but it somehow felt ages longer. Simon was jittery beyond belief. He couldn’t sit still for more than two minutes. He read and reread Swan Lake twenty times, so that he could recite it to Baz off by heart. Baz would find that impressive. But eventually that became too much as well. He read other books, napped a bit, and before he knew it, they were back on the edges of Watford Town. Simon breathed a sigh of relief. Tonight, he’d finally be able to see Baz again.

But then the carriage stopped.

Simon lurched forward then back, knocking his head on the seat. He rubbed the sore spot with a pout. Why did he keep getting head injuries? His brains were going to rattle loose and dribble out of his ears soon.

“Ow,” he groaned.

The door was violently ripped open, making Simon jolt. David stood with a stern expression.

“Get up, Simon,” he said. “We’re doing a procession, like when we arrived in Canterbury.”

Simon sat ramrod straight. “W-What? Why?”

David narrowed his eyes. “Because the capital should receive their ruler and heir with appropriate fanfare. So we will make sure it happens.”

Simon took a deep breath in place of a groan or shouting at David’s stupid face. “Yes, Father,” he gritted out.

“Good. Put on your crown.”

Simon snorted and grabbed his circlet. They walked to their horses, and Simon reluctantly got on. He was going to hate this even more than Canterbury and he knew it.

Watford Town as a bit more excited than Canterbury as they rode through. People looked generally pleased and happy. Or at least they were better at hiding their displeasure than Canterbury. They clapped and cheered and grinned. Simon waved politely, trying to ignore his desperate desire to run away into the Forbidden Lands. His eyes just swept over the crowd with passive disinterest. He scanned for Penny’s hair or one of his other old classmates. He noted the house, the fruit stands, the pond.

Simon’s breath stopped. His hand froze in the air. Sitting on the pond was a black swan, wearing a silver chain. And one of it’s deep sea grey eye met Simon’s dead on.

———————————————

AN: Well, Simon knows a way to break the curse, but whoops, Baz knows the truth. I won't spoil, but next chapter is where the angst really comes in. Also tbh I didn't plan on Philippa being this much of a character, but I needed a character with a last name and Philippa came up. She doesn't have a lot of personality beyond crushing on Simon in the book so she's almost an OC lol. I enjoyed writing this. Baz and Simon are so crushing and so awkward haha. It was hard to balance between the two but I liked doing it.

Next chapter will be next Monday baring any complications. And I'm posting the last request fic in the next few weeks. I'm really excited to post it and containing my excitement is really hard lol. I'll just say is that it's connected to one of my previous popular fics :) See you guys soon!

#carry on #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #philippa stainton #the mage #fluff #angst #fantasy au #the black swan #mysnowbazfic

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