alt_regulus | KrEEEEchr

Once, many and many a year ago, there was a boy who lived with his mother and father and two small brothers in a comfortable yeoman farmer's cottage nestled beside the wall of a great lord's estate. For many generations, the father's fathers had served the lord faithfully, and always they had prospered and lived in peace.

It was said that the boy's earliest grandfather, so many grands ago, had saved his liege lord's life. In exchange, the legends told, the lord had given the man two precious gifts: title to the land on which his cottage stood and a great, finely wrought stone infused with magic that the lord promised would protect the family so long as they possessed it. The faithful yeoman made it the capstone of a new gateway arch through which all who entered his yard must pass, and many believed that no harm could come to the family so long as the stone remained in place. Others claimed that so long as the family kept possession of the stone, there would always be an heir to inherit the father's land. And so it proved, for many and many a peaceful year. In each generation, the fathers served their lords faithfully, and the family lived and thrived, untroubled by any misfortune.

Ahhhhhhow

H'llo there.

I'll have to ask him for that one tonight. Or you could tell me it. Once things get bad again. They're really bad. When they are, I mean, which is always now.

'Scuse me, need

smore sleeeep

I sent off the potion yesterday.

It should help. So would my sister killing that odious interloper.

Pity the strawberries aren't in yet.

aughh

no
no strawberries

uch

the smell is like rotting strawberries, I couldn't place it before

may never be able to eat them
again

~~But they're your favourite~~

Take the potion. It should help. And finish your task.

Perhaps you ought to fit yourself with an air filter? That ought to help as well.

Really, Regulus, if you just think of how to improve your lot, I'm sure you could push through.

It has helped, cousin. Thank you from the bottom of my gut. My heart, too.

This is your fault.

Didn't think you'd remember how this one goes, actually. I never thought you liked it especially.

Full of surprises, aren't you?

Not especially. But even if I couldn't remember the precise words, I can't forget the tale. The number of times you wanted it read?

But no, I didn't memorise it. I happened to be in the same place as a credible library, is all.

And yet, as ever it happens in this imperfect world, fate would not allow this family's happiness to go untested. One day, a new lord took possession of the manor, a new lord who did not respect the traditions of his fathers and who was not content with what he inherited.

what happened next?

Well, the new young lord decides he wants the yeoman's property as a hunting lodge, but when he demands it, the yeoman refuses, and so the lord challenges him to a duel. But first, the lord blasts the magical capstone and gateway that protected the yeoman's property, and you know that means bad things will happen as surely as you ever know anything about stories and their telling.

And so

And so, on the last morning of May, as the mists rose up from the dew-draped meadows, the yeoman told his son to be brave and steadfast, to care for his mother and to do his utmost to keep the land, whatever the outcome of the duel that day. To his wife he gave a locket he had transfigured from the latch salvaged from the ancient iron gates; it contained a shard of grey stone and a curl cut from his black hair, tied with a blood-red ribbon. Last of all before mounting his tall steed, he raised her hand to his lips. And then he rode out of the yard with a brave clatter of hooves upon cobbles.

The duel ended badly. On both sides. Straight off, the young lord broke the codes of honour, casting his first curse before the count was complete, but even wounded, the yeoman prevailed, bringing that unscrupulous nobleman to his knees. Before their witnesses, the lord renounced all claim to the property and signed a note promising that neither he nor his heirs would ever challenge the right of the yeoman or his heirs to hold that land for as long as their line continued. When all the witnesses had placed their marks on the note, the yeoman bowed and turned, but before he had taken a step, he swooned. Despite the Healer's best efforts, he died where he fell. He was buried with his wand in his hand, wearing his lord's livery like all his fathers and grandfathers before him.

I know that sounds terrible and sad, but it's not a story about this yeoman; it's a story about his son.

Did the son seek revenge on the lord when he grew up?

I like the bit about the locket.

I do think it's a bit awful he was buried in the livery of the man who insulted and killed him like that, even if it was tradition.

Pansy, I think it might be best if you were to ... limit your interactions with Regulus.

I know you are both grown quite fond of each other; Regulus has always possessed those qualities that both endear and amuse, like so many who rely on others' forbearance and goodwill for their own livelihoods. But his current circumstances are bound to cause you both further distress - his when he cannot sufficiently explain to you the privations to which his fealty subjects him, and yours when through such awkwardness he fails, as he inevitably shall, to meet your expectations, whether they are phantasies you have together concocted, attributes you have assigned to him without his active participation or particularly those in which he has given you any encouragement toward superlatives.

I would not wish proscribe you from continuing an acquaintance that obviously suits you both. Let us say instead that I merely hope to spare you a disappointment that I fear may soon confront you, should you grow ever more entangled in promises which your 'pirate' may find himself unable to uphold. Maintain your friendship, certainly, but be wary of deepening your attachment.

If nothing else, take instruction from his previous conversations with Mrs Malfoy, notably his many warnings that his time and attention are not solely within his own liberty to dictate, nor fill as he chooses.

After a fashion. I won't spoil the rest because you'll enjoy it much more if I send you the book (when books can be sent again, of course). It has wonderful pictures in the Russian style--all billowy dresses and swirling robes and sloe-eyed cattle and apple-cheeked children. It's a bit young for you, but if you enjoy it, perhaps you'll keep it to give to ~~your~~ some young person one day.

I've always remembered the locket. Mother had one with a lock from each of us, but she stopped wearing it when we were small and stuffed it in the very back of a drawer in her dressing table. She doesn't put much stock in such things, I suppose.

I think the point of his being buried in livery is not to do with the young lord, at all, but with the fact that a yeoman gives fealty to the lord's house. It's not the individual lord or yeoman that matters, but the line and the office, you see. The insignia marked him as a true son of his fathers as much as it marked him as a true vassal to the lords of that manor.

Odd as it seems, I think it's a message.

A lord who doesn't respect traditions and isn't content with his inheritance?

Sound like anyone we know?

Especially given that Reg always saw himself as the Yeoman's Son. Circe, what a load of bollocks that was, but

I'm sure he's in over his head. Merlin's cave, he's such a fatalistic, whinging sod, though.

KrEEEEchr

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