#swynhenry

HENRY: There was no looking back. There was only forward. Henry could save his guilt and regret and terror over the people who had died at his hands at the battle of Best Castle for his nightmares– because he knew they would visit him in his nightmares, even when Ashleigh wasn’t haunting them. (Was it terrible that he missed those hauntings? That at least they made him feel important?)

Well, that was all over. There was only one ghost that mattered to him now, Eric, and Henry couldn’t rest until this whole business of the Order was put to a stop, and Eric was finally avenged.

Admittedly, he felt a bit off-balance, having Tom at his side instead of Rose. But perhaps it was for the best. Last time, toward the very end, Henry had caught her eye and almost broken down. He needed to stay strong. To prove to Tom that he was really trustworthy now, that he had changed, that he was on the right side of all this now.

He crept through the halls with Tom, alert to any sign of the last Order holdouts who were camped out here. Funny how this place had once been the host of the Order’s grand parties, the ones Henry felt nervous attending. This was a very different kind of party.

“I hear something ahead,” Henry said in a low, clipped tone. “On your guard.”

THOMAS: Thomas was furious that he had been saddled with Henry. He would take his bloody ex-girlfriend over the backstabbing traitor. Why was he even here? If it had been up to him, Henry wouldn’t have any part of this. He didn’t give a fuck about Henry’s crusade to clear his name. Tom knew well enough that you never wiped the blood off your hands after you had killed someone. And he still believed that Henry had absolutely killed Eric. 

His only cousin on the Harrington side. And that was all he saw when he looked at him: a coward, a traitor. There was no pity. Tom had stood at the precipice of making the same decision and he had turned away from it. Turned away from all of the Order.

Henry hadn’t been strong enough to do that. 

At least there was the wolf as a barrier. The hulking thing still unsettled him. Unlike his brothers, he hadn’t ever fought alongside one and he didn’t quite trust it, but for now, it padded eerily silent next to them as they made their way through the halls.

Tom hadn’t said anything to Henry as they moved through the familiar house. Tom had spent many Christmases of his childhood at Thornton Hall, many summers. He had memories in almost every wing and room. And by the end of the day, it would be burned to the ground. There was something pensive and sad about it. As they moved from room to room, clearing them to make sure no one was hiding, Tom saw each one, memories dancing like ghosts.

He closed the door on each one and moved on, shutting it out. 

As they came to the turn that would lead further into the house, Tom heard the telltale scuff of someone’s shoe. It echoed clumsily down the hall and he drew up. The wolf stopped, ears twitching, next to them. 

“I don’t need you instructing me, boy,” Tom said, readjusting the sword in his hand. He was the senior soldier here. The seasoned warrior. He stepped out into the hallway, ready to face whatever or whoever it was there. 

The man turned on his heel and shouted. “Oi!” The alarmed had already been raised when they entered, so Tom wasn’t worried about calling attention to them. The man rushed him. It was a boy really. Tom felt his heart squeeze. One of the Hightower boys, if he remembered correctly. Every face here would be a familiar one. Tom was glad that he had been given a blood oath. 

Not to kill.

It hadn’t said anything about injuring. 

The boy left his side entirely, easily open and Tom slashed against it. The boy crumpled as he reached Tom’s feet. For good measure, Tom hit him over the head with the side of his sword, knocking him out. 

“Come on,” he barked quietly in Henry and Toulouse’s direction. “Plenty more where that came from.” 

HENRY: Henry had no blood oath preventing him from killing. All he had was a complicated personal hang-up about it. 

Part of it was the same squeamishness he’d always had around blood, of course, the horror he felt when he realized this wasn’t training anymore. Four years out from his Blood Hunt, and Henry still hadn’t gotten over that. Part of it was the familiarity of the enemies, people Henry had grown up with and trained with and, in some cases, looked up to.

And part of it was the knowledge that, very easily, he could be one of them, fighting Tom, glad to die for the good of the Order. And maybe a part of him had died for the Order when Eric had died, and that was why he was so different now. He had thought there would be more glory in it. There was only darkness. These men– some of them boys– they didn’t know that yet. And so they offered themselves up to die for their cause, and when Henry killed them, he would be fulfilling that prophecy.

It made him sick to think about.

He waited, sword drawn, in case another appeared– and cringed when he heard the dull thunk of the sword against the boy’s head. He had to snap out of this. He had to be a warrior. He didn’t have time for complicated moral ponderings. He didn’t deserve them, either. Those were reserved for good people.

Henry nodded and followed Tom, weapon at the ready, trying not to show how nervous this werewolf made him. But the werewolf was on their side, he had to remind himself. Funny how that had happened.

The next pair to appear were older, in armor. Henry recognized them vaguely. He had been hunting with them before. Henry gritted his teeth and swung his sword, but missed, which made the older man smile as he easily dodged.

“Oh, a Charming,” he said. “They never do change, do they?”

THOMAS: There were not many of the Order left. 

Some had died. Tom had stopped keeping track after Percival. He didn’t want to know the toll. All the people he’d grown up with who were dead now, due to their own bloody stubbornness. Many had fled. That was for the best. Without England, they didn’t have their stronghold anymore. Sure, there were a few families scattered in other countries, like the de Chateaupers, but they had never been as much of a threat. The Order has been pulled out by the roots and now it was suffocating. 

That didn’t mean it wasn’t hard. These men had been his peers, his mentors. Not that his peers had necessarily been kind to him. As a child he’d been bullied, pudgy and soft; as an adult they’d envied him because he’d grown up handsome and strong and, most importantly (which he hadn’t realized until later): kind. 

It was because of that kindness he had allowed himself to be blinded by the Order. 

They had stripped that away from him too. All he had left was his anger. His sense of vengeance, leading him like a compass into the fray. He confronted their next enemies with nothing but that hatred etched in his heavy brow. Clashing swords with his own adversary, he knocked him back and into a wall easily, the breastplate he was wearing clattering awkwardly as he slid to the ground. 

Tom turned then, hearing the taunt. 

“Oi, back off,” Tom snarled. 

At his hip, the wolf growled low.  

The smirk wiped off the man’s face as he turned to see Tom. Who he didn’t know was sworn not to kill. Who was known to be one of the best soldiers of his generation. The two scumbags glanced nervously at each other but then raised their swords. 

“Never, traitor,” they hissed, in the same voice they used to call him names as a child. In the same way they had said “Charming.” 

The hallway was filled with the clashing of swords. 

HENRY: The word was meant for Thomas, but it hit Henry too, the way a blast from an explosion hit everyone in the vicinity. Traitor. Once, that had been the worst thing Henry could imagine being called. And for a moment, it stung.

And then he thought, oddly enough, of Eric. The greatest traitor he had ever known. And maybe the greatest person he had ever known.

Sometimes, being a traitor was an honor.

Henry advanced toward the men, a new, gritty determination in him. It didn’t matter how he felt about this. He could deal with all of that later, the guilt and grief and terror of battling to the death with the people who had raised him. And, later, maybe he could even try to talk to Tom again, who was saving his life right now despite the fact that Henry had ended his cousin’s. None of that could matter right now. What mattered right now was winning. Putting a stop to this whole thing, once and for all.

Henry grunted in pain as he was knocked against the wall, but managed, in his opponent’s splitsecond celebration, to slip out of his grasp and reverse their positions. With a slam against the wall, Henry knocked him out. “Alright, Tom?” he called.

THOMAS: There was a twisted part of Thomas that had missed this.

Growing up, Tom had been told he was only as good as the swing of his sword. So he’d made sure to be the best. He had wanted so badly to prove to his father that he was worthy of the Harrington name. And when his father died, he wanted to prove to everyone else that he was capable of taking care of his mother and sisters. He trained every single day and he’d never lost a melee tournament. A sword was an extension of his own arm. Even after all this time, picking it up again was just like riding a bike. 

He danced and he knew exactly what to do. Where to strike next. Where his opponents would move. The flow of the fight was something he understood. He was confident. Poised. In a way that he wasn’t in the rest of his life. Not as a friend. Or as a father. Or even as a lover. He was clumsy all the time. Never knew what to say. 

But he knew how to fight. 

It was as easy as breathing. It didn’t take long for the two men he was fighting to be knocked out, one with a slashed Achilles tendon and the other with a dented breastplate. He was panting slightly, but there wasn’t a scratch on him. 

“Fine, you?” Tom said, giving the lad a once over. For a moment, he forgot that he hated Henry. He was just a comrade. He was just the boy that Tom had watched grow up. Before he could say anything else, he heard a growl from down the hall. 

Toulouse was standing at the stairs, his ears back. 

“Er, we should probably get a move on. We don’t want to be stuck in this place when it goes up.” They still had to start their own fire too. 

HENRY: Tom had made quick work of the men he was fighting, because of course he did. He was Thomas Harrington III. One third of the Golden Trio. Even after he had sworn off the Order, he hadn’t forgotten what they had taught him, and he fought as fiercely as ever. Once, Henry had watched enviously, wishing he could be like him. 

Now, he only saw Tom’s skill from the cold eye of a warrior. He was an asset, a weapon, something that brought them closer to victory. Maybe later, he could unpack how he really felt about Tom. But for now, he was just focused on the battle at hand.

He grunted in assent, following Tom and the wolf down the hall. He kept his sword at the ready, just in case another foe leapt out of a dark corner. But the castle was unusually quiet, except for the sound of some kind of struggle happening up ahead. “We’re lighting the east wing, yeah?” Henry said, confining his talk with Tom only to logistical questions. That was all they were right now. Maybe all they would ever be. Comrades. Fellow soldiers. Henry didn’t need Tom’s forgiveness (even if he kind of wanted it). He just needed to be able to work with him.

THOMAS: “Right,” Tom assented with a firm nod as they made their way to the stairs. Tom knew these halls almost as well as his own home. He had memories of swordfighting with John and Phil and Phil’s brothers in these corridors. Of chasing his sisters and Primrose, or scaring them as they came around the corners. He had slept in these rooms. Had his first whiskey in the study. Lost his virginity at one of Phil’s parties here when he was sixteen. His whole life was etched in these halls.

And soon, it was all going to be ash. Tom was glad for it. He hoped that burning it down would also burn it out of Tom’s soul. So he wouldn’t care anymore. He could start new. 

They moved quickly and quietly, but they met another two assailants who engaged them right away. The hall was filled with the familiar sound of swordsong again. It rang in Tom’s ears. He dispatched his opponent relatively easily, but he was so busy with him that he didn’t notice the third man who had appeared down the hall until it was almost too late.

The wolf barked once in warning. Tom turned, lifting his blade, but he could tell it was already too late; he hadn’t heard him in time…

HENRY: Henry was also occupied by his own opponent, clashing swords and dodging hits, trying not to irritate his wound from the last battle as he twisted and slashed. He had a slightly better vantage point than Tom, though, and saw the third attacker coming. He would have warned him, too, but he thought Tom saw him. He thought Tom had it covered.

Tom was, after all, one of the Order’s best. Henry was following his lead. Mostly, he was trying to keep up, trying not to make a fool of himself. But when the Prince went right for Tom, two against one, Henry realized– it was going to have to be more than that. 

Henry spun around, not the smartest move when he was in the middle of a fight and was leaving his back open, but Tom was in danger. He had to think fast. Without hesitation, Henry plunged his sword into the assailant’s neck, sending him crashing to the ground as blood spurted from the wound. He had no time to think about what he’d done, though, as the other Prince he had been fighting hit him on the back of his head with the blunt side of his sword, hard.

Yelping in pain, Henry spun around, forcing himself to focus even as the room spun. He gritted his teeth, moving more slowly than he would have liked– but at least he was keeping up.

THOMAS: One moment, Tom was bracing for a sword to slice him through.

The next, hot blood sprayed against his face, making him jerk back in surprise as he watched his would-be assailant's eyes go glassy and he fell to his knees like a morbid tinman. Tom shook his head slightly and wiped the blood from his brow before it could fall into his eyes. 

Henry had just saved him. 

Tom was…surprised and then, guilty for the surprise. Henry was a good kid. He had sent Tom’s cousin to his death, but--he was a good kid. Tom had once been a good kid too, but war made terrible men out of even the best of boys. The Order had twisted every single thing in Tom’s life. They had praised him for killing a person. Had sent him to kill other people, innocent people. To take loving parents from their children. They had wanted him to kill his cousin too. So maybe he had woken up before Henry. Maybe he had always hated it deep down. He hadn’t had a father breathing down his neck, just a ghost. And a ghost’s expectations could only have so much weight.

All of this happened in an instant before the clash of swords jerked him out of his contemplation and he sprang forward to assist Henry. They finished the assailant off and stood, bloody and panting in the hallway. Smoke had started curling along the staircase below them. 

“Er, thanks,” Tom said, unsure what else there was to say. He wasn’t sure there was anything else to say. Tom could think about that later.

“We gotta move,” he said. “We are close now, here.” Tom handed over one of the enchanted lighters. He flicked one on himself and held it to an oil painting in the hallway next to him. The gold frame began to melt and dripped onto the floor, the canvas was eaten in moments. 

“C’mon.” 

HENRY: Henry took the lighter solemnly, like he was initiating some kind of sacred ritual. He knew the weight of what it meant. Burning down Thornwood Hall would, with luck and maybe some divine intervention on their side, end the Order for good. It was the last holdout. The last hiding place of anyone who hadn’t already fled or been killed. So they had to destroy it.

It made Henry ache a little, but he forced himself to feel that all the more strongly. No more running from things. If it hurt, it was supposed to hurt. It was his punishment, for still feeling any fealty to this wicked organization at all.

He held his lighter up to a tapestry on the wall and didn’t wait to watch it burn. Instead, Henry followed Tom– and as they continued down the hall, Henry started to hear a commotion in an adjoining corridor. 

Phil’s voice. Rose’s name, in a strangled kind of cry that made Henry’s heart drop. No. No. It couldn’t be, no, Henry couldn’t lose anyone else, he couldn’t lose Rose of all people, not when she– not when he–

Not waiting for Tom’s signal for once, Henry ran ahead, and when he rounded the corner–

A flash of blonde hair. Phil, crouched over someone. Blood, everywhere.

You’re not fucking dying on me.

Henry stumbled backward, and he couldn’t tell if it was the smoke that was starting to pour into his lungs or the scene in front of him or probably a combination of both, but he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t even let out the cry of panic and grief that was clawing its way out of his throat.

NO, Henry tried to scream, but nothing came out, and he stumbled backward until he almost collided with another burning painting–

THOMAS: They were on their way out. They were almost done. All of this would be over soon. That was what Tom was thinking to himself as they jogged down the hall. It was over. Soon, he would be home with Levi. His son would grow up in a world without the Order. Tom could give him that. He could not give him much, but this felt like the most important thing he might ever do for his son. That was why he wanted to be here, despite the risk. 

And as he jogged and thought about this, thought about how as far as he knew they were going to succeed. They’d come home a bit battered, but alive, he almost couldn’t believe it. It was too good to be true. 

That was when he heard the shouting. Phil’s voice, calling his name. He heard the distress in it in a way that sent a burst of adrenaline through him. Tom hadn’t heard Phil like that in a very long time. He picked up his pace into a flat out run, careening around smokey corners until he stumbled up the scene of Phil and Rose. He came up short, his eyes wide. He almost dropped his sword and sheathed it clumsily. 

The Order boys were taught some basic first aid but healing was women’s work. Tom looked at the dark blood stain in Rose’s stomach and only saw helpless death. 

Something white shot by him and he realized it was the wolf. Toulouse. Who ran forwards and transformed in a fluid blink of an eye, on his knees in front of Phil and Rose. Tom blinked as Lou started barking orders for cloth and any water. Tom turned on his heel, glancing at Henry who was pale as a sheet. He moved back towards Rosie’s room (because yes, he knew this hall too, even filled with black smoke.) He ran to the bathroom nearby, grabbing a few towels, soaking one in water and returning. 

Tom threw one of the towels over Lou’s bare shoulders, but the man was focused on what he was doing. 

“You need to leave. We will be behind you but there is nothing for it. Go. Get the boy out of here,” Lou commanded. “Once you’re outside call 999. I don’t give a fuck about your stupid Order secrecy; she needs a hospital.”

Tom hesitated, but like a good soldier, nodded and moved to grab Henry by the collar, yanking him down the hallway. 

“C’mon, laddie. We’ve got to go.” He strong armed the boy, pushing him forward and down the hallway. 

HENRY: Henry couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. A trickle of blood ran down the hallway and Henry thought of the water on the floor of the Order headquarters back in May, tinged with red. It was happening again. And this time, Henry was powerless.

And then he was being pulled down the hallway, stumbling along and barely keeping up. “Tom–” Henry said breathlessly, the words barely more than a whisper. 

But there was nothing to say. Henry didn’t care about any of this anymore– the battle, the war, the Order. Rose was dead. The Order had succeeded in, finally, taking everything from Henry. They had won after all, even if Thornton hall was burning to the ground. They would always win. And the people who made the mistake of getting too close to Henry would always pay the price.

Henry coughed and blinked at the sun as they stumbled outside, then turned to look at the burning building they had just left. The one Rose was still inside. He wouldn’t even properly get to bury her, would he?

For some reason, that was the thought, finally, that brought Henry to his knees, choking and sobbing. He hadn’t heard Toulouse’s instructions, but he wasn’t in a state to call anyone. It was hopeless. It was all hopeless.

THOMAS: They stumbled out of the house and right into the rain. It did not come down hard, but the sky was dark and ominous. He let go of the collar of Henry’s shirt and moved to the side, coughing slightly. The smoke exposure wasn’t horrible, they were probably going to need to get checked out. Before that, though, they were going to have to leave this place. The less people here when help arrived, the better. 

He pulled his phone from his pocket as Henry sat on the steps, being entirely useless. Tom watched him as he rang emergency services, wanting to throttle him. Wishing he was him. Tom’s best friends were still inside that burning sarcophagus of the Order. And even though Rose was his ex-girlfriend, that didn’t mean he didn’t care about her too. But Tom couldn’t cry. He had cried so much that he felt as if he simply didn’t have any left. His chest was a hollow thing, as if a great inferno had burned through it as well. All he could do was what needed to be done.

The line connected and he turned away, looking up at the grey skies mingling with the grey smoke. He gave the location, all the information that would be necessary (and omitted all the information that he could--his knowledge as a firefighter coming to surprising use.) When he hung up, he looked over at his truck and sighed. 

“C’mon, laddie,” he said, putting a heavy hand on Henry’s shoulder. He gripped him again by the joint of his armor and pulled him to his feet. “We’ve got to leave before the ambulance shows up.” He pulled Henry to the car, opening the door for him and then slamming it behind him as he clambered in. 

AUGUSTA: The final straw, it turned out, was being asked to spy on her brother.

It wasn’t the awkward forced dates with men she knew she would never love. It wasn’t even the horrible things they did to magical creatures, or the dangerous attitudes about Magicks that had taken Augusta years to unlearn. All of that cognitive dissonance, Augusta could take. She had lived a double life for long enough.

But she had always believed that, despite the numerous fucked-up things about her family, they would always stick together. It was always family first, Order second, everything else third. Until now, apparently. Until Henry had become a risk. 

On some level, Augusta understood why her parents were worried he would turn on them. He was distant lately, and the few times Gus had spoken to him on FaceTime, he seemed distracted. And she’d heard about what happened at the trial…

The thought made her shudder.

So when she got to Swynlake, instead of gathering information on Henry quietly, Augusta revealed everything. She showed him the messages. And then she asked if there was someone here she could speak to, someone who was organizing forces against the Order.

And that was how they wound up on the doorstep of Best Castle. Augusta knocked and pulled her cardigan tighter around her. It wasn’t cold, but the werewolf thing kind of freaked her out.

ELINOR: Elinor had been reading in the study, when the great knocker for the front door echoed through the ground floor. There were not many people that wandered this far out and Elinor had made it a rule (for safety!) that the girls needed to tell her if they were having anyone over. No one had been reported. Which meant this was a surprise visit. 

Once upon a time, Elinor had loved unexpected visitors. They were stressful, yes, but Elinor was in her element when under a little bit of stress. She liked being a hostess. It was the role she was bred for and she’d always been better at that than being a wife, or even a mother. 

Since coming to Swynlake, however, unexpected visitors had gotten rather perilous. 

Still, Elinor got up, folded the page down in her book, and moved towards the door. When she pulled it open, she was surprised to see her nephew, and even more surprised to see her niece. This was very ominous indeed, but Elinor couldn’t help the way she smiled. It had been so long since she’d seen her nieces. 

“Augusta!” Elinor said. “What a surprise. Please, children, come in. Come in. I’ll set the kettle on.” She drew Augusta into the house with a hand on her shoulder, leaning in to kiss her cheek before turning to move towards the kitchen. 

AUGUSTA/HENRY: Augusta smiled back, but already, she could feel that familiar twinge of anxiety that came with family gatherings. Not that this was a family gathering, and Aunt Elinor hadn’t even been present at the last couple of them. But that feeling never really went away. 

She couldn’t wait until she was done with all of this, honestly. She had an exit strategy. She wasn’t brave or idealistic like Henry was; the only reason she was here was because she wanted to protect Henry. And the second she did what she came to do, she was packing up her stuff, moving into her girlfriend’s place in Birmingham, starting her new job, and getting out of this messed-up world of the Order. 

When Aunt Elinor went to put the tea on, Augusta glanced at her brother. He seemed like he was on the verge of tears. He always did, nowadays. It made Augusta angry– how could any of this possibly be worth it? She wanted to convince him to come to Birmingham with her, to get away from all of this. But she knew he wouldn’t. He was too stubborn. And he had a more personal stake in this than Augusta did.

The Charmings followed Aunt Elinor into the kitchen, Augusta settling into a seat, Henry hovering anxiously.

“It’s quite pretty, what you’ve done with the place,” Augusta said politely, even though she really did not want to do small talk. 

ELINOR: Elinor knew that there was something on the horizon. Augusta would not have shown up without it. She didn’t know in what capacity it would come: Augusta, leaving the Order and needing help. Augusta, sent as a spy. As a warning. There were a great many ways that the Order could use a woman as a weapon or a toy or whatever they wanted. Elinor had known this while in the Order, and now that she was out, she saw it for both the strength and horrible, horrible weakness that it was. 

But before darkness settled again, Elinor wanted a moment with her niece and nephew as just that: her niece and nephew. Elinor had always loved her family. She missed them dreadfully. Even her bratty younger sister. And especially Shannon’s children. They were her only blood nieces and nephews, after all. 

“Thank you, darling,” Elinor said. “It was horrid when I arrived, but I think I am beginning to bring some life to it. Henry, sit down.” She said it as a command, but a kind one. 

He was making her nervous. She was nervous. Her brain was firing on all cylinders, trying to uncover what new plan the Order had before anyone had to say it. She moved to the cabinet, pulling down mugs and plates, silverware. There was some leftover tea cakes from lunch yesterday that she could get out for them to eat. 

“How are your studies going, Augusta?” Elinor smiled over her shoulder at her niece as she moved to the sink to wash her hands. 

AUGUSTA: Augusta shot Henry a very older-sister-type look (nowhere near as effective as one of Jacqueline’s looks, but it would do) and he reluctantly sat down, though his leg was now jiggling nervously. Augusta turned her attention back toward her aunt. Henry was also making her nervous. 

She smiled placidly. “Just about finished up. Finally,” she chuckled, though there was no real humor to her tone. It was the same thing she always told her relatives, who asked why she was still in school when she could be doing so many other things. Like getting married, was the implicit part.

She didn’t know if that was where Aunt Elinor was going with the question— because she did wonder how much she had changed since leaving Uncle Fergus— but that didn’t really matter. That wasn’t what they were here to talk about. 

“But I actually was here to talk to you about something else, if you don’t mind. Erm…” She took out her phone and set it on the table. “My brother thought you should know. It’s about the Order. They’re… planning on attacking the castle, we think.” She unlocked her phone. “I have proof. Texts from my family. They’re not going to be a part of it, but they know what’s happening and they’re not going to stop it. I’m… so sorry, Aunt Elinor…”

ELINOR: The question had been genuine. When Elinor had first gotten married, she had wanted to go back to school, get her masters. She thought it would help her feel more equipped for running a castle, considering the first few months, even years, had been rather difficult. But, Fergus hadn’t been keen on the idea and she’d found out she was pregnant with Merida not long after she had moved in. It had always been something she regretted, so she had been happy when she’d heard Augusta was going back for another degree. She’d been very proud.

But, clearly, her niece wasn’t here to ask about school or for her advice. 

She was here with a warning.

Elinor nearly dropped the tea mugs as she set them down in front of her niece and nephew. Of course the Order were coming here. After what had happened with the king. This was to be nearly expected, though Elinor had thought they might be safe, the Order not wanting to come full force into a magical town. She felt her stomach twist as she took the phone and read through the messages, disgusted at her sister’s behavior, unsurprised by her brother-in-law’s. There was a lot she could say about Fergus, but at least he was no coward. He would face his actions, even if it meant meeting with a sword at the end of it. 

The phone slid back across the table and Elinor looked up at Henry and Augusta, her eyes filled with tears. Not for herself, but for all the children caught in the middle of this. Not just Opal, Aidan, and Bellamy, but Merida, the triplets, Augusta, Henry, and even Jacquline. 

“You donnae need to apologize, darlings. This isn’t your fault.” She came around the table, so that she was nearer to them and she kissed at Augusta’s hair, squeezing her shoulders. “I am sorry that your parents have put you in the middle of all of this.” Her other hand came up to touch Henry’s cheek, then his hair, brushing it back gently. “This isn’t your responsibility anymore. I will take care of all of it. Do you know when they are coming?” 

AUGUSTA: Augusta closed her eyes, letting out a long breath. She had never really been close with any of her extended family. She assumed they were all the same– judgmental gossips who would spring at any opportunity to embarrass her family. Not to be trusted. The only person she had ever really trusted with her deepest fears and secrets was Jacqueline, but now…

Now everything was different. And, strangely, it was her aunt reassuring her. Augusta had assumed she would finally have to stand on her own here. Henry was on her side, but Henry needed her to be there for him, not the other way around. In her family, Gus had never really had to take on this role before. It was nice to realize that she had Aunt Elinor– that she wasn’t going to do it alone. 

Or maybe she wouldn’t have to do it at all. Maybe she could disappear into her new life, the one she’d always wanted. There was only one thing giving her pause…

Her brother, who now looked like he was trying to burn a hole into the table by the pure intensity of his stare.

She scrolled back up in the texts. “Mid July. So… it could be any day now,” Augusta explained. “They’re, erm, they’re getting on a boat, I think. I was sent here to collect Henry, but– I’m not going. I’ve got a job in another city, and, erm, someone to live with.” She didn’t think she should be more specific than that, even if she wanted to trust Aunt Elinor. “So I wanted to use the opportunity to warn Henry. I’m sorry there isn’t more notice, I… it’s all happening very quickly.” She looked up at Aunt Elinor nervously. “Will you all be okay here? It might be best to leave, hide for a bit…”

ELINOR: “Donnae worry about me,” Elinor told Augusta with a smile, squeezing her shoulders again. 

No, they wouldn’t run. Merida wouldn’t leave. Elinor knew that without even having to ask. Her daughter was stubborn and this was her home. Elinor understood. She had been sold from one home to another. And then forced to leave that home too, which had been more of a home than the first. This was her home now. And more importantly: it was Merida’s home. They would defend it. 

Besides, they’d started this fight. They’d killed the King. It wasn’t shocking to Elinor that the violence of the Order was falling on two women. Hadn’t it always? 

“We will be alright now, thanks to you. Do you need anything? Money?” she asked. She did not have much of it herself, but if her niece needed it to get set up in a new life away from all of this—she would gladly give it. 

“What about you, Henry?” She looked over at her nephew, who had been stony and quiet this whole time. Elinor knew that he had struggled with the Order in the past. With his loyalties. And while she wanted to trust them both, she was cautious and she doubted she’d say anything about her plans to either of them. To keep them out of a situation where they would have to choose. 

AUGUSTA/HENRY: Gus shook her head. She already had everything planned out. Never, in her life, before now, had she been a planner. But these strange times were making strangers of everyone. It helped that she had Mo to stay with, who was highly pragmatic and had helped Gus figure things out (and, in some cases, figured things out for her– Gus really had the best girlfriend ever). 

But she wanted Aunt Elinor to keep an eye on Henry, who valiantly (stupidly) refused to flee. Gus still thought there was a difference between her own form of self-preservationism and her family’s. She wasn’t fleeing the country, for one thing. Henry seemed to have no sense of either, though. He wanted to stay and fight. The Order had, it seemed, trained him a little too well.

Henry looked up from his concentrated stare at the table, looking briefly confused before his expression settled, once again, on a stony determination. “I’m going to help defend the castle,” Henry said in a low voice. “If the authorities won’t let me pay for what I’ve done, I’ve got to find my own way. The only thing I need is for you to let me do that.”

Augusta sighed, as though she had already had this argument with Henry, and looked at Elinor imploringly. “I’ve tried to tell him–”

“It isn’t your concern, Augusta–”

“It is my concern, you’re my brother and you’re clearly–”

“I am an adult, Gus, just let me make my own decisions for once in my life!” Henry’s eyes flashed with more emotion than he had shown the entire conversation, and they both went silent. Augusta shot her aunt another look.

“Just… take care of him, please.” 

ELINOR: Elinor frowned. 

And she thought of her own children. Merida and the boys tiffed, of course, but there was ten years between them, so there wasn’t really anything for them to truly have ever fought over. Merida was just as bad as the three of them. A prank for a prank was usually how debts had been settled between all of them. But she was thinking about her boys, left behind in the clutches of the Order. Elinor regretted that as much as she regretted pretty much every other decision she’d made in the last few years.

Maybe, her whole life.

She just looked at Henry and saw her boys. Saw them just as scared. Just as lost. 

Her hand squeezed Augusta’s shoulder. “Donnae worry. I will. We all will.” Herself, Merida, Tom, Phil, and John. She knew the boys would certainly watch over him. They all cared about him too. Elinor just…wished she had tried to do more for him before all of this. Maybe she could have stopped it. Or lessened the blow. 

“If you need anything, Augusta, please, do not hesitate to reach out to me. If you are--leaving your parents, let me help, when I can.” She squeezed her niece’s shoulder.

AUGUSTA/HENRY: Augusta nodded, feeling strangely relieved. She hadn’t really walked into this conversation expecting much. She had a lot of assumptions about her aunt, most of them just based on the faceless entity that her entire extended family was. And now she was entrusting Henry to her (though she knew Henry would firmly oppose this framing). And she… felt good about it?

Maybe there was more to her family than she realized. Maybe there was a way, at the end of this, for Augusta to come away from it with a family. Not the same one she’d always had, but a family still.

If there was one thing that coming out, first to herself, then her uni friends, then Jacq and Henry, had taught Augusta– it was that being queer often meant you built your own family. So Augusta had made peace with the idea of doing that, and she hadn’t expected any of her blood relatives to be a part of it. But now they were here surprising her. And she was surprising herself.

“I’ll be okay. I’ve been planning for this– even before all of this happened. I dunno if I would’ve been brave enough to actually do it if not for, erm, all of this.” Augusta gestured vaguely. “But thank you. I’ll… stay in touch.” She smiled nervously.

Henry nodded, his eyes trained on the table again, his expression once again stony and impassive. In his opinion, the sooner Gus got out of here to safety the better. The less she involved herself, the less of a target she made herself. And he knew this was the last time he may see his sister, if she did have to go deep into hiding– but he was avoiding that truth. He didn’t say anything.

“I have to say,” Augusta added, smiling at her aunt gently. “I… didn’t expect this. But I hope our paths will cross again. And… I’ll be thinking of you all. Be careful.”

ELINOR: Now that Elinor’s family was fracturing like this: her boys somewhere--she didn’t even know; Fergus hating her; her coward of a sister fleeing; Henry here, but distant and tortured; Augusta feeling trapped and needing to run herself--Elinor regretted everything.

She looked back on her life and wished that she had spent more time at her sister’s. Maybe, it would have made her and Shannon grow closer. Or maybe, it would have been horrid, but at least she would have a better relationship with her nieces and nephew. She had been so busy with Fergus’ family. The children on that side…it had been easy to fall into that family and leave behind the Briars. Her sister had always been so snooty. Elinor had fit right in with the DunBrochs, by not fitting in much anywhere else. It had been easy…but she hadn’t thought about the children.

She should have thought about the children. 

That was what she was doing now. And it felt like she was the only one who was. She worried about all of them. Merida--what her purpose was now, how the world would treat her. Her sons, what they were learning, how it would shape them. Thomas and his son--two generations touched by the sins of their fathers. Phillip and John. Henry and his twisted honor. 

It made her feel as if her heart was being rent into warped metal. 

“You be safe too,” Elinor told her. “And I’m proud of you. For having a plan, for having your own mind. I wish I was more like you when I was younger.” She smiled fondly at Augusta and it was only this exchange that kept her from crying. This hope for a better future for all these children who were escaping those same sins of their parents. 

“You’ll be fine, but check in anyway. We will take care of things here.” 

AUGUSTA/HENRY: Augusta looked up at her aunt, and for a brief moment, she thought about telling her everything. Aunt Elinor hadn’t said anything outright that made Augusta believe this, but her hopeful smile made Augusta think maybe she would be a safe person to tell… and that did make a difference, when Augusta felt like she couldn’t trust anyone in her family at all.

But she couldn’t take that risk. Everything was already decided, and Augusta couldn’t put Mo at risk like that. This wasn’t just about her. 

Maybe someday, though.

So she smiled sadly and nodded. “I’ll be okay. And Henry knows how to find me. He always has a place to stay, if he needs it.”

Henry knew this, but he wasn’t going to accept his sister’s offer. In his eyes, she was innocent. She deserved to get out of here before the black hole that was the Order had a chance to suck her in too. Going with her was cowardly, in Henry’s opinion– and it was also dangerous. 

ELINOR: Once, Elinor had loved weddings. When she was a little girl, she had dreamed of her own. And then, when Merida was a little girl, she had dreamed of her daughter's. Elinor had long ago made peace with the fact her daughter may never marry (but not with the fact that if she did, Elinor would not be there.)

That was what she thought about at weddings now. And she thought about her own marriage, crumbling like the foundations of the castle that she had worked so hard to maintain for almost thirty years.

She ruminated, standing in a corner, clutching her goblet by the base--before her curiosity or, perhaps, her desperation became too much.

Henry was her target, though the way she smiled at him when she finally sought him out did not betray this.

"Henry!" she called, giving him a warm smile. "You are looking well. I haven't seen you since Christmas."

HENRY: Henry thought he was doing rather well at this wedding. Between proudly introducing Ashleigh to people and recounting the epic takedown of the vampires (and maybe, just a little bit, embellishing the nightmare fog situation) Henry was beginning to believe he may just have turned things around. He was just on his way to refresh his drink when Aunt Elinor stopped him. Perfect. Another opportunity.

"Thank you very much, Aunt Elinor. It's lovely to see you." He bowed his head slightly and smiled. "I have missed seeing everyone, being away at uni. That place is certainly nowhere near as civilized as any of our property." He chuckled. Henry did feel kind of bad for speaking poorly of Swynlake, but it was objectively true. Swynlake was a wild place.

ELINOR: Elinor smiled tightly at Henry's assessment of Swynlake. It made her anxious. She knew, objectively, that she needn't worry about Merida. And yet, that was how she spent all of her freetime anyway. When you were a mother, it was impossible not to constantly worry. It didn't help when your daughter had a penchant for trouble and also, you hadn't spoken to her or laid eyes on her in two years.

"I can imagine," Elinor said with a little nod of her head. She had to be delicate about how she asked her questions. The last thing she wanted to do was alert Fergus to her inquiries. He would not take kindly to them.

"I trust you are handling everything alright on your own, then?"

HENRY: Henry nodded seriously, straightening his posture a bit. This was his opportunity. His parents would probably later ask what he had talked about with Aunt Elinor.

"Of course, yes. Hasn't been easy, of course. I have a suspicion that the fae situation from this winter is only going to get worse. Nasty buggers. Of course, we have other priorities at the moment. Just a situation I'm keeping my eye on at the moment. But I'm not going to let it get in the way of the werewolf mission." Henry assumed someone had already told Aunt Elinor about that, considering... everything.

Was it a bad topic to bring up? Henry wasn't sure, but he wanted to prove that he took this seriously.

ELINOR: Werewolf mission, Henry said and Elinor felt her heart clench. It did not show on her face, but she felt the panic spread easily through her veins as soon as her heart released.

There was only two werewolves she knew of in Swynlake: whoever had stolen that poor babe back and Merida.

For just a beat, she was completely silent. Her whole body frozen with dread. She did not want to know more--but she had to know more.

"Oh?" she said, finally, and her voice was light, airy. Almost too soft to be heard over the din of the reception. "And how is that mission going?"

HENRY: Henry hesitated. Honestly, Henry wasn't as involved as he was making himself out to be. The mission had started before Henry had gotten there, and as a younger (and fresher off his Blood Hunt) member of the Order, he was mostly there to support.

"We've had some setbacks, but it's all being handled very professionally," Henry said seriously, like he was a soldier reporting to a general. He didn't want to show any sign that this was an uncomfortable matter for him, the fact that they were hunting a former Order member. And a family member. Henry already had enough of a reputation for being too emotional. He wanted to prove that wrong.

"Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if these wolves took each other out. There was a situation around Christmas, some wolves and vampires got into it with one another... but of course that doesn't mean we'd wait for that to happen. We're going to need to be proactive. We have a few leads so far, but it's a question of how to be tactful, if you understand what I mean. The local government is not very cooperative."

ELINOR: The coldness of her dread was burned up at once by a rage which felt almost impossible to contain. She wasn't sure how she managed. Perhaps because she had been practicing so long. Though, there was a moment where her hand twitched around her glass, as if she was going to raise it and strike Henry across the cheek.

Perhaps her anger was stayed because Henry was just a stupid little boy, who could not be faulted for absorbing the lessons he'd been taught. She wondered where that small boy had gone, who clung to his mother's skirt.

"I see," Elinor said, though she felt detached from her own voice. It sounded mechanical to her ears. Rehearsed. Her mind was already racing ahead.

Her divorce was already finalized. All that was left was for Fergus to sign the damn papers. Which was a hurdle, in and of itself, but no matter. If she had to leave, that would work for itself. She would be relinquishing the boys but--they had not wanted her anyway.

None of the legalities of that mattered anyway. What mattered was that Fergus had lied to her and that someone was hunting her daughter.

"And when you say we, you are referring to Mr. Smith, Knightley, and Harrington, are you not?"

HENRY: If Henry was being truly honest, Tom, John, and Phil were really the ones doing the work of this werewolf mission. Henry was mostly there for support. And even though he told the others that he was putting the fae thing on pause, Henry had sort of privately made that his own mission, so that when something inevitably happened because of the fae, Henry would be prepared to step in and save the day, securing his family's reputation once and for all.

But nobody was ever honest at these Order events. Everyone was just trying to one-up each other, to be the most impressive, and if Henry wanted to make his family proud, he had to play that game too.

"Yes, and myself, of course," Henry said, puffing up a little bit. And Rose. He felt bad leaving her out, but Aunt Elinor didn't know her, so there wasn't really any point in bringing her up to Aunt Elinor. "Not to worry, we'll have this taken care of in no time at all."

ELINOR: "I am sure you will," Elinor told him a voice that dripped, honeyed with irony.

What kind of order poisoned boys' minds so deeply to make them think that promising the death of a daughter to her mother's face was ever something that was good? That was right?

Elinor had spent the last two years wrestling with the edicts she had lived her life by. She had always believed that when someone was turned into a monster, they were stripped of who they had been before, their humanity. But, when Merida had come to her father's hall and revealed what had happened to her--

Elinor had only seen her daughter. Not a monster. And she couldn't look back from that moment. Her confidence had chipped away and now...

Now was the time to act.

"Well, good luck." She reached out and squeezed Henry's shoulder, perhaps harder than she meant to, and then looked to one side. "I think I heard someone call my name. I will see you at Christmas."