FIC: Empty Nest

[mharific]

Fandom: Westmark
Rating: PG
Words: 449
Disclaimer: Lloyd Alexander's toys, not mine. I'll put 'em back.
Summary: The children are grown, the times have changed.
Notes: Written for friend_fic with the prompt: Clearly we cannot stay here any longer. Infinite gratitude to rainbowjehan for the shot in the arm, and to tiamatschild for the moral support.



The sharp angles of her face have softened with the years. Her eyes have deepened, acquired lines like rays of the sun, making them look brighter. Her nose is more prominent, her smile warmer than ever. She sits enthroned in the shabby armchair, looking every inch an Augusta, and laughs at him.

"Dear man, no one's called me that for years!"

"My apologies." Florian smiles, handing her the teacup. "Old habits."

"Yes. You always did, even when there was no one else to hear." She casts him an amused look under her lashes. "I used to think you did it just to put me in my place. Only a queen, after all!"

Florian laughs aloud. "I probably did." He eases into the other, creaking chair. "I was young and self-righteous."

Mickle snorts into her tea. "You were a damned snob."

He winces. "And you were a royal terror. You still are. Thank heaven I haven't had you to deal with all these years, on top of everything else."

"Just so. Theo has, and you see what it's done to him."

"So far as I can tell, it's made him very happy."

Her face softens again. "I like to think so." A sip of tea. "I hope so. He worries too much."

"He always did," thinking of the boy, white-faced behind the blood and dirt, saying, I have to think about it. I have to understand. "It's what made him valuable."

"Do you still think that way?" Mickle's tone is suddenly sharp. "In terms of who's useful to you?"

He controls his expression, watching the shadows move on the hearth. "Sometimes. But that isn't what I said." Into her silence, he says quietly, "I value doubts. I value questions, and friends who'll tell me when I'm wrong."

She is silent then, so long a time that Florian looks up at last, to find that she too has her eyes on the hearthstones. Finally she says, "He's right this time, you know. We can't stay."

"You might."

Mickle throws him a keen glance, expressionless.

"Things change," he says. "You're hardly the beggar girl anymore--"

"Lies!" She grins. He does.

"Nor, if I may say so, particularly regal. Recognizable, but only to one who knows what he's looking for. It's certainly possible."

"But not wise. Is that what you're saying?"

Florian meets her eyes. "I'm saying you have a choice."

"I know that," she says. "I just don't know which is the right one."

"Until you do," he says, "you're welcome here."