#nothing else matters my beloved horse Rosa is here

[peachssodapop]

Official totk rating 10/10

because the horses transfer over

[starlight-matrix]

“Enchanted” Ch. 1 & Only

So. This is my Cinderella Klance AU. I have no idea if it will ever be updated, so please don’t get your hopes up. It’s from Lance’s POV, Lance is Cinderella, a couple other characters are a couple other roles, blahblahblah, enjoy.

“Fate is an interesting thing,” Lance’s father used to say. “We can think we have our lives under control, that everything that happens in life is of our own making. But there will always be moments when we have to realize that we truly don’t have control over anything. Life does what it wants with us, and we simply have to go with the flow. Those who deny fate will only suffer.”

As a child, Lance had swallowed those words like they were the sweetest of candies, treasuring his father’s philosophy as if it were a deity to be prayed to. “There is a lesson to learn from everything that happens in life.” His father would say. His mother would smile, and Lance came to love the phrase because it put meaning to everything in life- a trip and fall would teach him not to run on the rug, a terrible stomachache would teach him not to eat too much before bed.

Even the smallest of moments, a butterfly landing on his outstretched finger or a stranger smiling back to him, was given meaning, and Lance reveled in every little detail of life.

Lance’s father Jaime was his idol, the person he looked up to more than anyone. His father was a kind man, one who loved his family and his trade equally, teaching commoners philosophy and music and literature and everything else that was generally considered a “nobleman’s craft.” Lance was taught to play the piano and sing and read and write and map stars and grow crops and care for animals. He enjoyed everything his father taught him, still enjoys it all, even years later.

Lance’s mother Rosa was just as kind, if not as outspoken. She was quiet, and took comfort in silence, preferring the sounds of wind-rustled leaves and chirping crickets to the chaos of any meaningless conversation. Lance was a different person when he was with her. When he was with his father, he was loud, joking and laughing and singing as terribly as he could just to make his father laugh with him. But when he was with his mother, he was calm, taking in distant noise and helping her knit or sew, nestled into her side like two puzzle pieces fitting together.

And despite the difference in his personality depending on who he was with, Lance never felt like he was trying to be someone else. There were just two parts of him: the loudmouth prankster who loved nothing more than to see someone full-out belly laugh, and the minimalist boy who fell in love with quilting and treasured every small, miniscule happenstance.

Growing up, these were the traits that defined Lance- his love for making people happy, his kind and social nature, his need for affection. He loved his parents and they loved him. He had good friends in the farm animals and the other household staff, and his family was never in lack. So there was no room in his heart for anger or sadness or any other negative emotion.

Sometimes Lance wonders if the only reason those emotions exist now is that some of that happiness and love he’d once treasured had gradually seeped out and left an emptiness behind.

Lance’s first taste of sadness is when his father discovers swollen bumps on his skin, white and painful with the stress of whatever is inside. The doctor comes. Lance and his mother are all but thrown from the room the moment the doctor finishes his exam, and the doctor refuses to let them back in. “He has the plague.” The doctor says. “You cannot go in, for you may fall ill as well.”

Jamie McClain dies the next morning, alone and scared and without any proper farewell from his beloved wife and son. Men come to wrap up the body, and they bury him in the pasture behind the house, blue forget-me-nots covering his grave. Lance and his mother never again enter the room where he had died- there’s too much risk of his illness being on the items in the room.

For months afterward, Lance and his mother are never apart. All of his father’s students come to pay their respects, and Lance holds his mother’s hand in his as they listen to wild stories about his father’s wonderful teaching and funny jokes. Lance knows every word is true, knows he has seen all of what these students have seen and more. But he listens to every story even though he’s heard them all before from his father, because his father is gone, and these students are telling Lance the stories his father can no longer tell himself.

Late at night, when the house staff is asleep and the house is silent aside from the croaking of frogs in the pond outside, Lance and Rosa weep together, curled in each other’s arms to share the grief of losing someone who meant so much to the both of them. Lance will bury his face in his mother’s chest and let the tears soak her nightgown, savoring the feeling of hands running through his hair and rubbing circles on his back. The pillows are always damp when he wakes up, but his mother is always there to help yank them off to be washed, the gentlest of smiles forming on her lips.

“You must always let your tears flow. They can always be washed away after.” She says, taking Lance’s hand in her own and kissing him on the nose and making him giggle like a child.

In the few years after his father’s death, Lance savors his mother’s company more than ever before. He insists she teach him every trick there is to learn about sewing and knitting. They spend hours a day in the sunroom, cuddled up together on the lounge listening to the far-off sounds of honking geese and whinnying horses, embroidering or mending ripped clothes or simply enjoying the warmth of the body pressed into theirs.

To say that Lance is surprised when a carriage suddenly comes flying in through the front gate is the understatement of the century. No one they know is wealthy enough to afford a carriage, so who on Earth could be coming to visit?

Lance is in awe of the man who steps down onto the dirt driveway. Long, snowy-white hair like something out of a fairy tale, a bright violet tunic with silver trim and laced heeled boots that Lance is terribly impressed by (he knew he’ll never be able to walk a foot in heels without falling, likely breaking the shoes and his teeth). Even without the fancy carriage and entourage of personal attendants, the man is still so extravagant Lance wonders if he’s perhaps come to the wrong estate.

“Is this the home of Jaime McClain?” The man asks, looking at the house as if he is both disappointed and mildly impressed at the same time.

Lance nods with a small but genuine smile. “Yes, this is. I’m his son.”

“Ah!” The man’s face lights up then, a wide grin gracing his features. “You are Lance, I assume! Your father has told me much about you! I am Lord Lotor Tremaine, a friend of his.”

“Oh! You’re the man who helped build papa’s school!” Lance is glad to recognize the man, if only in name. Lotor nods sharply and moves up the steps in front of the door.

“May I?” He asks, gesturing toward the door.

Lance hurries to open the door wider, moving out of the way so Lotor can enter. “Of course!”

As Lotor enters the house, Lance gently closes the door behind them, turning toward Shay, the housemaid. “Can you find mama, please? Tell her a friend of papa’s is here.” He asks. Shay nods with a smile that fades once she casts a long glance at Lotor, who is preoccupied with one of the scenery paintings on the wall. Shay disappears, and Lance turns back to Lotor. “We don’t have guests over very often, so I hope you’ll forgive us if our hospitality’s a bit shabby.”

Lotor smiles sympathetically, setting a hand on Lance’s shoulder. He ignores how hard the grip is. “I wouldn’t expect the two of you to be perfectly poised, not when you’ve been in grief,” Lotor says. “Your father was a good and kind man. I’m sure you must miss him dearly.”

Lance smiles back, a tinge of sadness seeping into his features. “Yes, sir, I do.”

Lotor moves to walk further down the front hall, and he makes a passing compliment on the chandelier - a carved crystal piece shaped to resemble three swans joined together by the tips of their wings. A memory floats in Lance’s mind of laying on the rug in the hall with his mother and father on either side, regaling them the story of “The Ugly Duckling” and changing up the ending, saying that when the poor little duckling finally found his family and discovered he was beautiful, the three of them were so happy they turned into the purest of crystals, stuck together forever in time.

The short daydream is broken by his name being called, and Lance turns to see his mother on the stairs, Shay close behind. She smiles at him and he smiles back, and then her gaze is on Lotor, and she hurries down the last few steps to approach him with a polite curtsey.

“Welcome, Lord Tremaine. It’s an honor to meet you in person. My husband treasured the school you helped him build all those years ago, I could never thank enough for that.” She says, folding her hands in front of her. Lance scoots back a few steps to watch their exchange from afar.

Lotor bows low to Rosa, a look in his eyes that Lance can’t place, and then Lotor is looking at him with an expression of partial concern. “Lady McClain, I would greatly appreciate if you and I could speak in private. I have some matters that pertain only to you and I.”

Lance tries not to let his confusion show on his face. His mother glances between him and Lotor as if she wants to go against the man’s wishes and insist her son sit in, but Lance gives her a look that says not to be rude, as much as he wants to hear what Lotor has to say.

“...of course. Please, this way.” She says, gesturing toward the study. Lance stays put in the hall until Shay pulls the study doors shut, turning back to him with a small smile.

“Lance, why don’t you help me prepare some tea for them? Some time in the garden might help keep your mind off whatever it is they’re discussing in there.” Shay says.

Lance nods with a small grin and follows Shay through the house, waving hello to Hunk as they enter the kitchen. He doesn’t stop to make idle conversation like usual, beelining for the back door and hopping down the steps into the greenhouse attached to the kitchen, breathing in the smell of all the spices and herbs growing in neat little rows. This place is Hunk’s pride and joy, passed down to him from his father, who had once been the McClain’s personal chef before retiring.

Lance runs a hand along the glass panes of the wall as he moves carefully between the rows, silently naming off all of the plants as he passes: sage, parsley, basil, oregano, dill, lemongrass, coriander, chives, mint. He plucks a few mint leaves off the plant and heads back into the kitchen, handing the leaves over to Shay who slips them into a small teabag, carefully sewing the top closed so none of the leaves will seep out. Lance takes a seat on a stool off to the side and watches.

Ten minutes pass, and then the kettle is steaming, and Lance hops up off his stool to grab his mother’s favorite tea set off the shelf and hand it over to Shay, who smiles at the silent gesture. He watches her place the tea bags carefully into the pot, pouring the steaming water in after, slow so as not to break the tea bags. He takes the teacups and places them neatly on their saucers on a tray, and Shay places the finished teapot next to them, Hunk adding a plate of cookies and the tiny pitcher of milk. Lance fetches the bowl of sugar cubes, and the ensemble is complete.

“Lance,” Shay says, holding out the tray. “Would you like to take it in?”

Lance hesitates, wanting to say yes, but shakes his head. “No, but thanks. I don’t want Lord Tremaine to think I’m spying on their conversation.”

Shay nods in understanding and leaves the kitchen, maneuvering through the house quickly and with ease despite the weight of the tray in her hands. Lance follows her, but stops at the edge of the hall, out of sight as Shay uses her foot to knock on the study door. A voice Lance can’t understand sounds from inside, and Shay deftly opens the door with her elbow, disappearing inside the room. Lance waits patiently at the end of the hall, shooting Shay an expectant look when she emerges from the study once again.

The worried look on her face mirrors on Lance’s own when he sees Shay, and the two of them speed-walk back to the kitchen, Hunk looking up from where he's planning dinner and raising an eyebrow when they throw the door shut behind them.

“What’s wrong?” Lance asks, his fingers wringing together in silent panic. His mother is in a room with a stranger - a male stranger at that - and Shay’s expression only adds to his paranoia.

“I’m not quite sure, but your mother looked stressed when I went in. Lord Tremaine had his arms crossed as if he were waiting for something, though it didn’t seem as if he was pressuring her at all. I think he was asking your mother to make a decision. She looked troubled.” Shay explains, gaze locked with Lance’s. “Perhaps she doesn’t want to make a decision until she’s talked it over with you?”

Lance says nothing, not knowing what he could say. He knows his mother has never had to make hard decisions on her own- she’d always had his father there to make them for her, or to at least give good advice and comforting words and to accept whatever decision she did make. But now she doesn’t have him to support her, and while Lance knows he’ll support any decision his mother can make about anything, he simply doesn’t have the expertise of an adult.

He can’t help her make a decision about anything that is truly important, and it makes him feel useless.

Lance waits on the stairs for the meeting to be over, picking at a hangnail that eventually bleeds when he pulls a little too hard. He sticks the hurting finger into his mouth and frowns at the taste of iron on his tongue, but then the study doors open again and the pain is shoved aside.

He stands, hiding the wound behind his back, but doesn’t move from his spot as his mother and Lotor exit the study, arms linked as Rosa leads him to the front door. They speak in hushed tones and exchange polite farewells, and Lance’s stomach churns as Lotor leans forward, pressing a kiss to his mother’s temple. There is no love in the kiss, Lance can see it from how Lotor pulls away in a rush and how his mother’s mouth presses into a thin line. Lotor bows again and leaves, Lance’s mother watching from the doorway until Lotor’s carriage is out of sight.

Lance rushes to her side when she turns back to him, and she takes him into her arms and holds him tight, his tall frame dwarfing hers. “Ah, Lance, I’m sorry. You must have been worried.”

“Only a little.” He lies as they pull apart, hands still linked. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, baby, I’m alright. Just tired is all. Come, let’s go sit in the sunroom. I have something to tell you.”

The two of them move through the house in synch, settling onto the lounge in their favorite room, pressed into each other’s sides. Lance slouches low enough in his seat to lean his head on his mother’s shoulder, running his hands over the rings her finger. They’re both beautiful silver bands stacked over each other, the top one with a tiny garnet set into the metal- his mother’s birthstone.

The bottom ring has an emerald instead, and Lance remembers his mother saying she wore it underneath her own because his father’s fingers were so much thicker than her own.

“Lord Tremaine has asked me to marry him.”

His mother blurts out the words without warning, forever ruining Lance’s memory of twirling his father’s wedding ring around her finger.

“And I’ve said yes.”

Lance’s gaze snaps to meet his mother’s, and she looks away, grip tightening on Lance’s hand.

“I’m not marrying him for love, you must know that, but it isn’t a bad thing. Lord Tremaine knows how to manage accounts, how to manage finances. I don’t have a job like your father did, I don’t know how to manage the estate well enough to keep us out of debt in years to come.” She explains.

Her face contorts into an emotion Lance knows all too well: hopelessness. “If I marry him, Lord Tremaine can manage the estate and finances and everything I don’t know how to do. He’s promised to help us keep the house, to make sure we keep the home your father loved. I just...I couldn’t say no, Lance. I can’t bear the thought of losing this place. So I agreed to marry him.”

Lance says nothing for a long moment, simply allowing the words to sink in fully. He understands why his mother agreed to marry Lord Tremaine. He’s someone Lance’s father trusted, someone he had looked up to and respected. He’s also a wealthy man, and obviously an educated man, if he was offering to handle everything about their lives that was even mildly complicated.

She had agreed to marry Lord Tremaine for her husband. To keep the place where she had once spent her life in his arms, happy and healthy and loved.

“I’ll support you. Both of you.” Lance says, voice quiet but sure. “Forever and ever, I promise.”

His mother looks close to tears, and Lance throws his arms around her, letting her sob into his chest. “Do you think your father would be upset if he knew I’m marrying again?”

“Of course not! He’d tell you this is a good idea, that it’s clever to marry like this. Besides, papa trusted Lord Tremaine. He would applaud you for making such a hard decision all on your own.”

Lance feels his mother nod against his chest, and they stay like that for a long while, just holding each other in comfortable silence while shadows trail along the walls with the setting of the sun.

The sun is low enough in the sky to no longer be seen above the treeline when Shay finally comes to fetch them for dinner. They eat with the house staff that night- Shay, Hunk, the gardener and the stablehand. Lance sticks close to his mother’s side as she informs everyone about Lord Tremaine’s proposal. There won’t be a wedding, she says, as their union isn’t for love and shouldn’t be made a bigger deal than it already is. But Lord Tremaine will be moving into the estate afterward, along with his niece and nephew, whom he cares for.

Lance is a bit put-off by the idea of suddenly having stepsiblings, but Hunk and Shay assure him that it can’t be that much different to the relationship he has with the both of them. “Surely they’ll grow on you with time.” They say, both having siblings of their own.

Lance goes to bed that evening with a whirlpool of thoughts swirling about in his head. What will it be like living with strangers? What will his new step-siblings be like? What will Lord Tremaine be like, behind closed doors and apart from the need for courtesy? What if he doesn’t like them all?

What if he likes them too much, and they all disappear, just as his father did?

Eventually, sleep comes, and the thoughts fade into dreams of soaring swans and the lapping of the ocean on a white shore, his father’s distant laughter and the smell of his mother’s perfume. When he wakes the next morning, he can’t help but wish to be back in the dream, back in the place where his father is still alive and smiling and telling wild stories that Lance always believed.

A month later, Lord Lotor Tremaine and Lady Rosa McClain are joined in union, and hardly a week after that, Lord Tremaine’s carriage returns to the estate, overflowing with trunks and bulging suitcases that look like they really shouldn’t be able to stay on top of the carriage without falling off. The carriage door flies open and then a young girl is hopping out, perfectly styled blonde locks floating down over her shoulders and chest. A young man almost identical to her in every way aside from obvious gender steps out alongside her, and Lance decides in but a second that he definitely, definitely wants to be friends with these two.

The girl approaches Lance before he can say anything, smiling sweetly and dragging her brother with her by the hand, curtseying to Lance as her brother bows at her side. Lance bows to the both of them and returns her smile. “Welcome! I’m Lance, it’s nice to meet you both.”

“I’m Nyma, and this is my brother Rolo. It’s nice to meet you too, Lance. Your home is beautiful! I could see the roof from all the way down the road, and the view you have here is gorgeous!” The girl says, introducing herself with a gesture toward her brother as his name is mentioned. Lance watches her spin slowly around as she gazes up at the house and around the front courtyard. Rolo holds a hand out and Lance shakes it, the two of them sharing curt smiles.

“Would you like to see inside? You’re going to be living here from now on, so I could give you both a tour.” Lance offers, enjoying the way Nyma’s eyes light up at the suggestion.

“Oh, would I!” She says, eyes sparkling.

Lance leads them into the house, sparing a glance back at his mother, who is approaching Lotor and speaking to him with a polite smile on her face, one Lance can tell isn’t genuine even from so far away. But then Nyma is saying something about the chandelier in the hall and Lance drags his attention from the two adults and back to his two new step-siblings.

He leads them both throughout the house with a genuine smile, enjoying their cheerful company and active compliments. Nyma takes at least ten seconds to fully admire everything they pass on their way- the flowering branches painted onto the walls, the patterns etched into the wooden floorboards, the carved doors and bay windows and chandeliers. Rolo says little, but takes a keen interest in anything of woodwork, Nyma explaining that it had been their family business long ago.

Lance learns that Nyma and Rolo’s parents also died of bubonic plague, just like his own father. He learns that Lotor was their mother’s brother, and that he took them in without hesitation, raising and teaching them on his own without the help of servants despite being a wealthy lord who surely had better things to do than to deal with two grieving children. Lance tells them about his father, about the stories he would tell and the things he would teach, and how much good he did for the poorer people in the world.

“Your father sounds like a wonderful man,” Nyma says, laying a hand on Lance’s arm.

“He was,” Lance replies. “What about your parents? Do you remember them much?”

“Not really. We were too young when they died to remember more than tiny details. Our father, he was a woodworker, and when I think of our family home I always smell woodchips, no matter where I am. Our mother always smelled like barley tea, and she had the softest hair. We would tangle our hands in it when she carried us and she would just laugh, even though it surely hurt, having us babies pulling on her curls. I can remember our father’s beard, all thick and scratchy.”

Nyma’s expression turns into something fond and distant, and Rolo slips his hand into hers, his sister giving him a small smile as she entwines the fingers of her other hand with Lance’s own.

“We have only just met, Lance McClain, but I can tell we’re going to be very close.” She says, Rolo nodding in agreement. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have two brothers.”

Lance and Rolo both laugh at Nyma’s wistful tone, and the three of them continue on their tour of the McClain estate until the sun has set and Shay comes to fetch them for dinner. Nyma and Rolo, as a point of contrast to their uncle, don’t really treat Shay as a servant, but rather as a friend of the family, the way Lance and his mother always have. Nyma and Shay get along like a house on fire and Lance can already tell they’re going to make wonderful friends.

Upon entering the dining room, they find Lotor and Rosa sitting on opposite ends of the table, a picture of stereotypical wealth that has Lance chuckling to himself despite the distant feeling of sadness in the fact that his mother’s husband doesn’t want to be close to her.

Lance takes the seat closest to his mother’s side, and Nyma takes the seat across from him, Rolo at her side. Lotor doesn’t mention how neither of them sit near him, though Lance can see the way he glances to both Nyma and Rolo, a calculating look in his eye. “Well, I’m glad the three of you have had time to mingle and become acquainted. Nyma, Rolo, this is Lady Rosa, your new stepmother. I trust the both of you will treat her as she deserves.”

“Of course we will!” Nyma says, almost sounding offended at her uncle’s implications. “Lady Rosa, I’m honored to live in your beautiful home. And Lance has been so kind to us already, I’m sure you and I will get along just as well.”

Lance’s mother matches Nyma’s smile with one of her own, a small, genuine smile that eases Lance’s nerves and makes his heart swell. “I’m sure we will, darling. I’m glad you feel that way.”

The meal passes with happy conversation, mostly led by Nyma, who chatters on about the decor of the house and the impressive upkeep of the gardens and how nice Shay is. Lance adds in with questions about Nyma’s hair routine and they go on a long tangent about skin care, sharing tips and making Rosa laugh at their antics. Surprisingly, Rolo opens up more a while into the dinner, conversing with Rosa about books and the hand-carved banisters on the stairs. Lotor says little, simply watching the exchanges with a blank expression Lance can’t read.

After dinner finally comes to an end, Lance is exhausted with the energy of meeting new people, and he bids his new siblings good night as Shay leads them to their rooms, chatting with Nyma as they walk down the hall. He hugs his mother right outside her bedroom door, and she whispers in his ear how proud she is that he did so well with the Tremaines. “You were kind,” She says, “and you treated them as you treat me. I’m glad you all get along.”

Lance and his mother share a smile, and she kisses him on the forehead, then on each cheek, before turning back to her husband and disappearing into their room.

For the first time in years, Lance sleeps alone in his own bedroom, cold and just a little bit lonely.