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connan-l · 5 years

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Those Left Behind

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationship: Georges Bollinger & Giselle’s Family Summary: Years after his brothers’ deaths, Georges decides to go visit the family of the young woman who had supposedly lived at the cursed mansion with Michel. Why though, he is not sure himself.

Content Warning: Discussion about grief and death. Vague allusions to Michel's past abuse, Giselle's sexual assaults and all the bad stuffs in general that took place in Door 7.

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Link on Archive Of Our Own

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Notes: I've always been a little disappointed that we know almost nothing about Giselle’s family. I wish we'd been given a bit more information about them... I mean, we don't even know their names. If you named that asshole Amédée, you could've named Giselle's mom and sister too, Novec. I understand that they didn't have as much importance in the narrative as Michel's family, but I feel they still would've been great to flesh out Giselle's character even more. She is the main heroine, after all.

But in any case, I wrote this because I’ve been curious about what must’ve become of them after Giselle took on the role of the Maid. Her mother and sister spending the rest of their lives without ever knowing what truly happened to her is pretty sad…

It was also interesting to write Georges in the aftermath of Michel's death. I made him a lot more... mellow in it, which might seem a bit out of character, but I was thinking that it'd make sense, with him being older and having to deal with his brothers' deaths and his remorses.

There is brief mentions of the short stories The Painting's Ramblings and III. Boy Meets Girl.

Also, this takes place in 1106, so Georges is fourty and it is two years before his own death, and six years after Michel's death.

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The streets were pretty empty. There were a few middle-aged women here, some kids playing with a ball there, but otherwise, they seemed almost completely devoid of people. Devoid of sounds. Maybe it was because of the gray sky and the thick clouds that threatened to break down in a heavy rain at any seconds now. It certainly wasn’t a beautiful day at all; not a day anyone’d choose to randomly stroll the capital's streets. Yet, Georges had felt the need to go out now — felt it had to be today, otherwise he’d never do it.

It was a day where he didn't have much to do, anyway. Although, if he was being honest... he had been relatively free since more than a decade already. He still had some work as a painter, of course, but this had diminished with the years, and albeit the fact he was still officially the head of the Bollinger family, it had been a long time since he had actually bothered himself with any business related to it. Instead it was his wife, the beautiful Aimée and her eternal smile, who took care of it — and she had done so ever since they got married about eighteen years ago now. It had been a gradual thing. At first, she would only bring him drinks and give him some advices here and there; then when things started to get too hard or frustrating for him, she'd told him to go sleep and to leave it to her; and before he even knew it, Aimée had the entire control of their family's affairs. Obviously Georges had been reluctant about this at the beginning — he had tried more than once to get things back in his hands, but every time Aimée would assure him that everything was perfectly fine, that she could absolutely handle all of that by herself. And, well, to say the truth... she was right.

Georges may not be the kingdom's brightest person, but he still could easily see how extremely intelligent and clever his wife was. Never had the Bollinger family been as rich and influent than now under her leadership. She was more than capable to be in charge of everything; be it finances, politics or otherwise — Georges would even say she seemed to have been born for that. She was infinitely more skilled and smart than he could ever hope to be — infinitely more than even his father or grandfather had been in her place before her. She had a gift to rule and manipulate people, and if he was being honest, it was a little scary. The only thing holding her back was her gender — and Georges could only imagine how much more terrifying she would have been had she been born a man.

So, after a while he ended up letting her do as she pleased — even if it wasn't actually to the taste of everyone. Although he was technically the face of the Bollinger household, nearly all of the nobility was aware of who was truly pulling the strings, and a lot of them didn't like that. That was only to be expected — a man leaving all of the truly important work to his wife was unthinkable, outrageous. People openly looked down on them sometimes. Georges couldn't even remember the number of inappropriate remarks Aimée had gotten, both subtly and unsubtly telling her she would be better off at home taking care of their children. But Aimée never seemed to mind it — she only smiled politely, and continued to do as usual as if nothing happened.

Georges didn't care much about the condescension either. He had never liked doing all of those boring and annoying family business — always thought Dee would have been a better head for the house, or hell, even Michel. He'd rather concentrate on his one true passion: painting. Which was exactly what he had done for the last twenty years or so. Even if truthfully, painting had actually taken a back seat in the order of his priorities since the birth of his two sons, Séverin and Dieudonné.

Georges had never imagined himself as a father. He always thought the task to be way too hard — here again, both of his brothers would've been much better dads than him. But the day his first boy was born, it had been as if his entire world had been turned upside down. Suddenly, all of his prime concerns became completely dedicated to his children's lives — about what was their needs, their education, their tastes and hobbies.

The day Dieudonné, only three years old, had excitedly showed him his first ever painting — an abstract landscape with all the colors of the rainbow — Georges didn't think he'd ever felt as happy and proud in his entire life, and he had actually started bawling right on the spot while his tiny son had just stared at him curiously.

The boys both had pretty differing personalities — the oldest, Séverin, was a tough adventurous little guy — he loved spending most of his time outside, with a soft spot for animals, and was an outstanding equestrian, despite being only seventeen. The other one, Dieudonné, was one year younger than his brother and had a more gentle personality — while he also loved playing outside, he had taken more after his father, being instead more interested in art. The two of them were pretty close — Georges had made sure that no matter what might happen between them, they always knew they had each other's back. Made sure that they don't make the same mistakes he had made with his own brothers.

In general he spent a lot of time with his kids — maybe it was, in a way, to really set him apart from his own father, who had always been extremely distant and too taken by work to allow himself a lot of time with his children. Aimée wasn't really fond of this, however — she had told him in mutiple occasions that she thought he spoiled them too much, that he was too easy on them — but Georges would honestly rather be close to his sons and "spoils them too much" than the opposite. Even if, lately, he had... some sort of tension with Sév. The boy had started to be quite rebellious and to spend more time with his mother rather than him. Georges wasn't very worried about this, though; he missed his son and the time where he had no difficulty getting along with him sometimes, yes, but he just thought it was something normal. Sév was a young man who was just on the cusp of adulthood, so there was nothing odd about him wanting to get away from his dad.

Georges sighed, his eyes surveying his surroundings. The more he walked through the shopping streets of Paris, the more the sky seemed to get grayer. He honestly worried that at this point it was going to rain soon. He hoped he'd be able to find what he was looking for before, though. Or rather, to find the people he was looking for. He was aware he actually had very little chance to find them — hell, for all he knew they could have moved out of the city a long time ago. From what he had heard, they did have money troubles, after all.

Still, he wanted to talk to them no matter what, so he continued to do his best searching by asking around, talking to all the shopkeepers he saw. He didn't have much chance, until he found an old man with a rough face and two small eyes as gray as the sky.

"Um, hi," Georges greeted him. "Is that okay if I ask you some questions?"

The man first eyed him strangely — probably because of his expansive-looking clothes, which wasn't really something the people here could afford. Georges grinned at him.

"I'm sorry to bother you," he continued. "But do you know if a merchant family lives around here?"

"You'll have to be a bit more precise, my good sir, 'cause that's kind of almost half the families from the area."

Right. It was a shopping street, after all, so of course. "Yeah, um. I think they used to be a family of three ladies: a mother and her two children. One of the daughters was named Giselle."

As soon as Georges pronounced that name, the man's eyes brightened. "Ahh! Are you talking 'bout Margot's daughter?"

"Uh... maybe?"

"That's the only family that fit I can think of. Margot's husband died from a plague almost thirty years ago now, so she raised her two girls alone. She never remarried. The youngest's name was indeed Giselle."

"Oh. Then that must be them, yeah."

"I remember her well, Giselle. A sweet girl, always peppy and smiling. A shame, what happened to her."

Georges raised an eyebrow. "May I ask what happened to her?"

"What? Ya don't know?" The man asked, then scratched his head. "Well, one day she started working for some noble's house and... disappeared. There was a lot of... unsavory rumors about her that spread around a while after that... To tell you the truth, it's a bit unclear what happened to her exactly... Some say she was killed, other that she ran away. In any case, she just never came back home."

As Georges had expected, the man didn't give him much more information than what he already knew, but he still thought it had been worth trying.

"Her mom and big sis live over there, two streets below in a small house," the man said while gesturing to the left. "It's just the two of them ever since Giselle's gone."

He crossed his arms and sighed. "The eldest was supposed to marry some rich guy at one point, but in the end the wedding was cancelled. They both loved each other, but she was just a poor merchant lass and didn't have enough money for the marriage to go through... and with the rumors about her sister... Sad story, really."

"I... see," Georges simply said, as he wasn't sure what to answer to that. "Well then, thanks. Good bye."

He waved at the man, then turned around and started walking again, following the instructions he had been given. He made his way through the city's streets, eyeing the rare passerbys and the modest houses with a kind of nostalgia. It had been a while since he had just strolled through Paris like that — especially since he had stopped taking as much work as before. And even then, the people who commissioned him were mostly just nobles or rich bourgeois, so he very rarely adventured himself in the poorer districts. This part of town was far from being the slums — but it was still a lot less wealthy than what he was usually accustomed to.

In fact, he thought that the last time he came around here was... that afternoon when he was still just a teen and where he had taken Michel outside dressed like a boy, without telling it to anyone, not even to Dee. Georges vividly remembered that day because of the heart attack he almost had when he lost Michel for a few hours. Now that he thought about it, that had been... probably the only time where Michel had went into the city like that, as their mother always refused to let him out of the house. The only other time he had been outside after that was for... going to that mansion. Even though there had been so many other things Georges had wished to show him...

But this peculiar trail of thought tended to send him spiralling into interminable sadness and self-hatred, so he decided to stop thinking about his brother altogether for now.

As he kept walking, the road became more and more narrow, until finally, he managed to reach a house that fitted the description he had been given. Just like the man had told him, it was a small, humble house — not old or decrepit or anything, but certainly far from being a wealthy residence. He thought it looked a little bit cramped to live here for what had initially been a family of four... even though they had only been two for a few years now.

Lost in thoughts, it took him some times to notice he wasn't actually alone here and that there was another presence not far.

A woman was on the porch. She seemed to be at least a decade younger than him — in her early thirties, probably. She had long, wavy black hair tied in a pony tail. She was currently extending the laundry on a small drying rack, plunging in and out of the basket in rhythmic, meticulous movements. Although Georges was only a few meters away from her, she didn't seem to have remarked him at all, being instead too focused on the wet clothes.

Georges watched her for a moment silently. He knew that he should try to talk to her... but he was hesitating.

The reason he was here in front of a strangers' house was because of something that had happened a few months ago. He was with Sév, helping him out with his studies, until he decided to go search an old mathematics book that was in his former father's room to teach his son something. After Antonin's death, Aimée had been the one to take care of his belongings, and she had almost thrown and given away everything. Her cold attitude regarding this had surprised Georges, as she had always seemed close to the head of the Bollinger family. He and Dee had still managed to save a few things, and since then Antonin's room have been left empty, pretty much abandonned. It was only used to stock some things from time to time.

When Georges entered in the dim and dusty bedroom, he started to tamper with his dad's things unceremoniously and inadvertently made an ancient stack of papers fell on the floor. All while swearing, he gathered the pages... and then one of them caught his eyes. It was... a sort of old official document, describing the firing of some maid who had worked for their family because of a mistake she had made. She had been exiled to a mansion to expiate said fault... This didn't interested Georges in the slightest, until he noticed which mansion this maid had been send off to.

It was the same place where Michel himself had been exiled.

A chill ran through Georges' back as he intently continued to read the document. The maid's name was Giselle, and she was a young woman who came from a relatively poor merchant family — unusual thing, as normally the maids working for their family were abigails who themselves came from pretty well-off households. Why would their family employ some run-of-the-mill town lady? There was something off about all of this, but as Georges kept reading, suddenly he remembered.

He didn't think he had ever actually met in person this woman, but he certainly had heard her name a few times before. It had been about seven years ago, maybe — some sort of scandal had blow up within their family. Their father apparently had an affair with a maid. This had been kind of a shock to Georges at the time — even if, retrospectively, it shouldn't have. His parents' relationship had degenerated more and more over the years, until they almost didn't even talk to each other — things having been made even worse with Lydie's illness eating away at her. Rumors of the maid having seduced the head of the Bollinger house while seeking his richesses and status spread around, and so the woman was quickly condemned for adultery — but then Antonin intervened. Instead, she was just sent into exile, at the same mansion were Michel lived — though, of course, that had been something their father ignored.

Georges recalled Dee panicked a little upon learning this, and in the end he told him he had secretly sent a letter to the young woman so that she'd take care of Michel as his servant. And then, none of them heard any more about it — that was, of course, until Antonin died, and that... Michel was sentenced to death. Which Georges only heard all about after everything had been settled. He had learnt about the letter Michel had sent to their mother, the assault on the mansion and finally his brother's death only afterwards.

He hadn't even been able to read that letter — the last letter his little brother had written — until a long, long time after Dee's death. Because everything... was just too painful. He still had it now; carefully folded in a small box in his room, that not even Aimée or his sons had the right to touch. And he had memorized every word drafted on it — Michel's determined claim of his identity, his demand of being accepted as such by them... and him announcing that he was in love with a woman.

He hadn't mentioned the name or any more detail about his beloved, but there was only one woman who Michel could have fallen for — the only other human being who had been sent in exile with him. So it wasn't a stretch to assume that this maid Giselle... had been the one he was talking about.

Georges now remembered the smile that had unconsciously sprout on his face upon reading this, and then the overwhelming sorrow that had followed. His little bro being in love should have been something special; something worth celebrating — and in normal circumstances, Georges would have definitely spent days teasing Michel about it and would have done and said things pretty embarrassing to him. But when he finally read that letter, Michel had already been dead since a long time ago. So instead the only emotions left in him were sadness and guilt. His thoughts then had been full of conflicted feelings and mostly about his brothers, thus that maid had completely faded from Georges' grieving mind.

He didn't think Dee said anything about a woman when he attacked the old mansion with the other knights. He didn't say much about anything, actually — which, given how Georges kept hurling insults at him and practically jumped at his throat, wasn't surprising. But, then...

What had happened to her? Did she ran away somehow? Did she came back home, to the capital? Or did she die there in the mansion with Michel?

For some reason, these questions wouldn't leave Georges' mind. He kept obsessing over this woman — his brother's lover, the last person who had been at his side before his death. So, he decided to make some research about her. He asked the old servants of the house, and when he questioned the head maid who had served them for about ten years now, she grimaced. Manifestly, this wasn't a story she looked back on fondly. Still, she told him what she recalled of this Giselle — about how she was an upbeat and hardworker person, albeit being inexperienced and a bit clumsy. She didn't know what happened to her after her departure, but in any case, it seemed she never came back to Paris. She mentioned that her family kept harrassing the Bollinger house for months afterwards, wanting to know what had happened to Giselle, and they were only given the explanation that she had been exiled for a mistake she made. Although Antonin kept sending some money to her family even after her exile — maybe out of guilt. But they ended up refusing and cut off all ties to the Bollingers, so he still stopped shortly after.

In other words, there was no concrete answers to what had happened to her. It was as if... she had just vanished. Stopped existing. It was kind of a scary thought. But the more Georges learnt about her, the more he wanted to know. He didn't know why exactly he was drawn to her like that. Maybe it was because... he felt that if he could know more about this woman, maybe he could know more about Michel. Maybe he could know more about the life of the brother he neglected for more than ten years.

A part of him thought that he shouldn't do that. That he didn't even had that right.

You abandonned him. You did that to him.

But his curiosity was stronger than that.

And it was how, in this ugly day, he had decided to survey the shopping streets of Paris in search of this mysterious young woman's family. However, he hadn't been able to find much about them; only that they were composed of her mother and older sister, and that they were merchants.

Now, against all odds, he had actually managed to do it. He had been able to find the house of his brother's beloved. And now, what? What was he supposed to do? Talk to the woman on the porch? How? To be honest, he hadn't actually thought that far ahead. He started thinking this had been a bad idea, that he should get back home — but at this moment, the lady raised her head.

As she did, two bright, beautiful jade eyes pierced him.

"Hello?" She said hesitantly.

She was obviously very perplexed by this unknown man who had been staring at her from afar quietly. The last thing Georges wanted was for her to think he was a creep, so he hurried to grin in the most friendly way he could.

"Uh, hi!" He greeted her while scratching his head. "Hey, um, sorry to bother you. I'm Georges."

The woman — who he guessed was probably Giselle's big sister — cocked an eyebrow and crossed her arms. "Okay...?"

"Uh, right. Don't worry, I'm not a bad guy or anything."

"Sounds like something a bad guy would say," she replied without missing a beat.

"I-I'm really not! I just wanted to know... are you, uh, the daughter of a merchant lady named Margot...?"

She still looked intensely dubious and on the fence, but nodded despite it. "Yeah, Margot's my mother's name. What is this all about, Georges?"

"Well... uh..."

Georges sighed. What was that all about? That was a good question. To be honest, he wasn't sure himself. What did he expect to see, coming here? What did he expect to learn? Did he think knowing more about that maid would... give him some closure regarding Michel? Regarding Dee? After all these years, all these mistakes?

How ridiculous. Then again, him being an idiot wasn't something new.

The woman's frown in front of him deepened the more he stayed silent, so he finally started talking again while giving her an awkward smile. "I, um... it's gonna sound a bit weird, maybe, but... I am here because I wanted... needed to know more about someone. Someone... you used to know."

After hearing this, her expression kind of softened and she looked a little less hostile — instead, there was a clear curiosity and surprise shining in her green eyes. She was a really beautiful lady. Georges wondered how much her sister had looked like her. Did she have black hair too? The same pretty emerald eyes? Unfortunately, he doubted he would ever be able to answer these questions.

"Someone I knew?"

"About... seven years ago, I think, there was a young woman who worked as a maid where I live," he continued. "Her name was Giselle."

This time again, the woman's expression changed. But it was a way more radical change — her entire body tensed up visibly, her face lost its colors and her eyes widened.

"How do you know my sister's name?" She exclaimed.

"So she really was your little sister?"

"Of course she was! Th-That's not the point, how do you— Oh, wait... you said she worked as a maid to your place... No way... could it be you're from the Bollinger family?"

She almost spat the name with disgust, and Georges felt a disagreeable feeling engulf him. She was clearly angry — and so for a moment, he thought about denying it. Denying his identity, throwing away his name, running away from this angry, hurt woman who glared at him, getting as far away as he could from Aimée, from his house full of bad memories, from his dead brothers, from the guilt and the self-hatred, from his entire past and life as Georges Bollinger—

But as he continued to stare at the person in front of him, he felt as if her jade eyes pinned him on the spot and gave him no escape.

"I... am," he finally admitted.

It was obvious Giselle's sister already knew the answer before he even said it, but her face still contorted in cold rage.

"I have nothing to say to you," she said in such an icy tone that it sent shivers in Georges' back. "Go away."

She turned around, highlighting her message, and while Georges maybe kind of understood her reaction, he just... couldn't let it end at that.

"W-Wait a minute, please!" He said, grabbing her arm, but the woman brusquely released herself from his grip and glared at him once again.

"Don't you dare to touch me! I don't have to spare a single second for you."

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to touch you," Georges apologized, and he meant it — he always had a tendency to act before thinking. "I just— I just want to talk with you. I won't take a lot of your time, I promise, just a few minutes—"

"Do you not understand what "no" means? I'm a busy woman, and I don't want to associate with you or your family in any shape or form anymore. So scram!"

"I... understand that... But please, at least hear me out first."

The woman's face became red with rage. Her eyes were not only angry now, they were outright hateful, and Georges honestly thought she was going to slap him. It wouldn't have been the first time he got slapped. Or punched. Albeit generally, Dee always interfered before things get too bad, even if he really didn't want to.

Dee wasn't here to save his ass anymore, though.

"I can't believe the gall you have!" She screamed. "Do you realize what you're asking me? You said you weren't a "bad guy," but you randomly show up at my house, want to force me to talk about my sister who disappeared years ago, and for whose disappearance your family is directly responsible! The Bollinger family is the one who took Giselle away from us, so if anything, you should tell us about her! So no, you have no right to ask anything from me, or even to put a single foot into our house!"

Georges felt frozen in place. Her words resonated in his mind, stuck in his brain. None of them were wrong, he knew that. They certainly were the ones who had exiled that maid because of a "mistake," and then made her "disappear" because Michel became inconvenient to them. Although her sister probably didn't know the last part, it wasn't wrong of her to assume the Bollingers were the cause of Giselle's misfortune...

“Clémence? Is everything all right?”

Suddenly, a voice called out from inside the house. Giselle's sister — "Clémence," it seemed — winced, then turned around to exclaim: “Yeah, it’s fine, Mom! Don’t worry!”

She then sighed, glared once more at Georges, and started talking again, this time in a quieter tone in order to not alarm her mother inside. "Now leave. Mom's old and she has a poor health, so the last thing I want is for some fool to stress her out."

Georges stared at her silently. He knew he should listen to her, that he should go. He knew that his family had irremediably hurt these people. That because of them that person had lost a sister. The words of the man he had met earlier came back to his mind, and he realized that she had also probably lost her fiancé too because of all of this. So he was aware that even if he never actually hurt them directly, or never even intended to hurt this woman or her family — the only fact of him being involved with the Bollinger house made him guilty by association.

But, even so...

"I'm sorry," he said.

Clémence blinked, incredulous. "What?"

"I'm sorry... for what my family did to you. For what... we did to your sister."

"And you think some half-assed apologies will make anything better?"

He chuckled lightly. "No, of course not... I know I can't do much to repair the wrong that has been done to you... I can't give you back your sister... but I... still wanted to apologize."

He paused. He didn't really know what he was saying, honestly; he just tried to bare his heart to her as much as he could.

"I had... a younger sibling too. And I made... a lot of mistakes, and did a lot of hurtful things to him... but I was never able to apologize to him for that..." He swallowed loudly. "Nor will I ever be able to."

Clémence looked at him. She was still wary and angry, but looked a bit calmer now.

"So... I'm not saying you have to forgive me or my family... I wasn't expecting it. I just... wanted to apologize. Sincerely."

She kept staring at him in the eyes, her expression unreadable. The cowardly part of me him wanted to look away, but he couldn't bring himself to. It would have felt... rude. Then finally, after some time, Clémence sighed and ran a hand in her black hair.

"They didn't even told us anything."

"Huh...?"

"When Gigi... got exiled. No one came to tell us anything." She snorted. "I guess some lowly merchants like us don't even register in rich nobles' minds, so why would they even bother?"

The resentment in her voice was palpable — and it hurts. She obviously didn't seem to want to tell him all of that, but she kept on talking anyway.

"When she began to work there, we already barely heard from her at all. But she was supposed to come see us during winter towards the end of the year. So when she didn't show up... we got really worried. I came all on my own at your house, and I almost had to fight for anyone to give me any answers as to what happened... and then finally a servant came to me. And you know what he told me?"

Georges didn't, but he could easily guess. Because he had heard all of the rumors that had been propagated about Giselle back then, even if he had paid no mind to it.

"That my sister was a "greedy whore" who "seduced" the head of the family. That she had been "rightly punished" and sent away in a place far away to atone for her "sins"."

She glared at him yet again so fiercely it was as if she was looking at that servant who had told her those things.

"What a load of bullshit! Gigi would have never done something like that. She was such a stupid airhead, never on earth she would've been able to "seduce" anyone! And the guy was going on and on about how he couldn't even tell me where she had been sent, or how I should just be happy that she was even alive at all!"

She was starting to get very worked up, and realizing this, she stopped for a moment, plunged her face in her hands and took a deep breath.

"Mom and I couldn't just leave it at that, though. So we kept coming there every time we could, asking for more answers. But every time we were just met by the same rubbish. Until one day..." Her voice trailed. "One day, about a year later, another guy came to me saying that, apparently, my sister had just... disappeared from the place she had been sent. That she would never come back anymore."

She laughed out loud. "Ridiculous, right? They were the ones who exiled Gigi, and yet they had lost trace of her somehow? They had— lost her? Don't make me laugh!"

Georges recalled the head maid mentioning something like that to him. However, he himself had never heard about merchant women going to visit the household frequently before... Though he guessed that maybe Aimée knew, and that she had just judged it unimportant to tell him, as she so often did...

“Do you know what it’s like?” Clémence asked bitterly. “To have a sister who just… just suddenly disappear? Not dead, not runaway, just… disappear. Gone. Without any explanation.”

He felt his throat tighten even more. He had the reflex to want to reply he knew, actually — that he knew what it was like to lose a sibling. To have a younger brother disappear on him — and an older one too. But he also knew that his situation and Clémence’s were radically different, and he had no right to compare his to hers.

She never actually let her little sister rot locked up in a room for two whole years. She never exiled her all alone in a mansion and then just forgets about her for a decade.

She never indirectly (killed her) caused her death.

“I’ve always known Gigi shouldn’t have gone work there.”

“What?”

“To your freaking household. I knew there was something shady about it. I just felt it,” she said. “I mean, who would propose a job as an abigail to some poor merchant’s daughter? It never made sense. Mom and I were against it at first. But Gigi, she… she was so enthusiastic about it. She kept repeating that it was an ‘once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.’ That ‘with the money she’ll make there, she’ll solve all of our problems’…”

She snorted. “‘Solve all of our problems,’ my ass. She was such an idiot…”

Clémence sniffled and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Despite her harsh words, there was no anger in them, only… sadness. Maybe a bit of resentment, but it was decidedly not aimed at her sister.

In fact, she seemed almost about to cry.

"So, yeah," she continued. "If you ask me if I forgive you, then no, I don't. And I don't care much about your apologies, either. You can keep them."

Georges looked at her sadly. He had already guessed as much already. He realized now that this attempt at genuine apology had problably come off as incredibly self-centered from her persepctive, even though it had never been his intention at all. Georges always ended up hurting others without meaning to, even now that he was a middle-aged man, it seemed...

"Clém, what on earth is taking you so long? Oh..."

Finally, another woman appeared on the porch — the mother, Margot, Georges guessed. She was a small, plump lady who was clearly a lot older; her round face smeared with wrinkles and the few black locks that escaped from under her headscarf had some obvious silver streaks, but otherwise her eyes were of the exact same beautiful jade shade as her daughter’s.

Clémence bit her lower lip and looked annoyed — she manifestly had not wished for her mother to see Georges.

"Oh my... Who is this man, Clém?"

"No one. Just some lost guy. He was going to leave," she said, while glaring at Georges and making him very much understand that his presence was not wanted anymore. "Right now."

And Georges had no intention to protest anymore. He didn't know if he had gotten what he wanted. Probably not. But he felt like if he stayed any longer, it would only add salt to the wound. However, just as he was about to turn around, a hand grabbed his arm.

"Wait a minute, please," Margot said, at the surprise of both Georges and her daughter. "I cannot just let you leave like that... Who are you?"

Georges felt stuck. He threw a desperate look at Clémence, who instantly put a gentle hand on her mother's shoulder.

"I told you, Mom, it's no one. He was just lost."

"Clémence, please. I may not be all that young anymore, but I am not senile either. You've been talking with this man for a moment now, so he can't just be someone asking for his way."

Clémence sighed, understanding that she wouldn't be able to get her way out of this. The older woman looked at Georges and smiled sweetly — and she looked so adorable and charming that he was sure she was the kind of person who could win anyone's trust.

"I'm sorry if my daughter said anything rude to you, she tends to have a bad character with strangers."

"Mom!" Clémence exclaimed, offended, but her mother paid her no mind.

"My name is Margot," she continued in a warm voice. "And you are?"

"I..." Georges looked over at Clémence, as if he was waiting for some kind of permission. But she said nothing, only looking away in annoyance, so he had no other choice. "I am Georges Bollinger."

Margot didn't seem surprised or upset at all upon hearing his name. Maybe she had already overheard them talking before — which wouldn't be surprising given how loud they had argued up until now. But he was still nonplussed that not even her friendly smile seemed unfazed — it was especially jarring considering Clémence's extremely hostile attitude.

"Oh my, is that so," she simply said instead. "I am honored to receive the visit of such a noble person. That is very unusual."

Georges grinned back at her, as her smile was contagious, but in a more reserved way. He wondered if maybe she was being sarcastic, but there didn't seem to have any trace of bad faith in her words.

"So what could bring you here, Lord Bollinger?"

"That's, um..." Yet again, Georges looked at Clémence for some assistance on how to answer, but the woman seemed utterly determined to not helping him out at all.

"I was... I just wanted... to know a bit more about... one of the maids that worked for us some years ago..."

Finally, Margot's smile slipped away from her face and a more complicated expression formed in its stead.

"About Giselle...?"

Her face was painful to look at. She didn't seem... sad, per se. More like wistful. Nostalgic. But something in her green eyes was just hard to watch — it was the eyes of someone who had an old, horrible wound that had just been slowly reopened.

The eyes of a parent who had lost their child and tried to come to term with it, he realized.

This made Georges suddenly think about his boys. About Sév who loved animals so much and spent most of his time riding his favorite horse. About his little Dieudonné whose pale blue eyes shined like jewels whenever his dad would teach him about a new painting technique.

What if, one day… one of them were to get snatched away from him? If one of them were to die, or to just… disappear, like this young woman Giselle? To just vanish without any explanation?

The pain he felt at the idea was indescribable. If something like that were to truly happen, he didn’t think he'd be able to bear it. He loved his kids way too much — the simple fact of imagining them hurt was a sickening thought to him.

Never on earth would he be able to understand the awful way his parents had treated Michel.

Of course he didn’t understand it before either, but now that he was a parent himself, it was even less comprehensible. Yes, there were times where his kids could be annoying brats or act like true little demons, but even then Georges never had the impulse to do anything to cause them pain. How come someone could even imagine wanting to hurt their own child — want to kill them — was beyond him.

And he didn’t think anything could change that. Even if one of his sons were to suddenly tell him he wasn’t a boy, or that they were to do something truly atrocious like murder a person. He just couldn’t imagine stop loving them.

(Though, then again… he did hurt both of his brothers, even though he had never meant to…)

And yet, this was something that had happened to this woman. Seven years ago, her child had been snatched away from her without she had a say in the matter, and she didn't even know what had happened to her. If she was even still alive or dead. The more he looked at her, the more he felt an overwhelming guilt opress him, and the more he felt angry at his father. At himself, too, for never even having heard or dared to learn about this whole ordeal concerning that maid.

Margot's face was hard to look at for all sorts of reasons — but on the other hand, she didn't seem to have any troubles looking at him, as she kept on staring straight into his eyes with an odd persistence — as if she was trying to see something in there Georges didn't know existed. After some time, though, she turned around towards her daughter and smiled gently at her.

"Clémence, honey," she said in a sweet voice. "Could you please give us some moments alone? I'd like to talk a little with Lord Bollinger."

"What?" Clémence almost screamed, her eyes as wide as saucers. "Why would you talk to him?"

"Well, he said he wanted to learn more about Gigi, so I want to tell him about her," her mother answered innocently.

"Mom! He is from the Bollinger family!"

"I am aware."

"And you— you...!"

Georges thought for a minute Clémence was going to punch a wall in frustration — but instead, she just stomped her feet on the floor.

"Sure! Why not! Go talk to the asshole rich boy, whatever!" She yelled, before going inside her house and slamming the door behind her.

"Um," Georges muttered, uncomfortable. "I, uh..."

Margot turned toward Georges and smiled again. "I promise you she is not always like that. Usually she is a very sweet and bright lady, but she tends to get a bit defensive when her sister is concerned."

"I... I see..."

"Now, Lord Bollinger... Would you mind taking a little walk with me?"

Margot extended her hand towards Georges, all while smiling lovingly. Despite feeling a bit awkward and guilty, he still accepted it and offered her his arm.

________________________________________________________________

"Over here."

While elegantly holding his arm, Margot walked in a slow, tranquil pace, her steps soft but firm, and she brought Georges a few streets away from her house. They arrived at a large, clear square, where a small fountain flowed in the middle. It was a pretty ordinary, modest spot, and yet there was a kind of charming, cozy aura to it.

"I used to bring the girls here often when they were children," Margot continued. "I would sat on this bench, and watch them play around the fountain. They always ended up completely soaked at the end of the day!" She laughed softly. "And oh dear, there was even that one time where Clém completely pushed her sister into the basin. Gigi sulked and didn't talk to her for two weeks. It sure was something."

Georges didn't know what to say as the older woman reminisced the past, so he just silently listened to her. She went to sit on the bench she was talking about, and he imitated her.

"Tell me, Lord Bollinger..."

"You can just call me Georges," he instantly told her. He had never liked formality, even less being called "Lord."

Margot smiled. "All right then, Georges. Tell me... Do you have children?"

"Ah... yes, I do. I have two sons. Though... they're soon gonna be grown adults in very little time."

"Is that so... I've always thought being a parent was such a strange experience," Margot mused. "It makes your world suddenly revolve all around these tiny human beings. It's wonderful, but at the same time it can give you so much worry..."

Georges could absolutely relate to this. Becoming a father hadn't really changed his personality per say, but it had certainly shifted his entire life... For a moment, Margot stayed quiet, her gaze fixated on the small fountain. It seemed as if she was lost in her memories, when her daughters were still only young children, he supposed.

"When Hugues... my husband died, at first it was as if the entire world had died with him."

Her voice was suddenly at lot softer. She was almost whispering, but thankfully there was no other noise around and they were the only two people here, so Georges had no problem hearing her.

"My parents died when I was a teenager, and Hugues didn't have any family either, so after he passed away, there was only me. It's funny how when he was by my side, I had almost no anxiety at all as a mother, but as soon as I was left alone, it didn't feel like I'd be able to be a parent anymore. These girls were so young — only six and three years old — so how was I supposed to raise them on my own? How could I feed them and give them a roof over their heads? How could I protect these little girls against this world? It didn't seem feasible. But..."

She took a deep breath. "But then, I still remember it so vividly — that day Hugues died, I turned around and looked at them, and they were both here, standing and holding hands and watching me, and then I understood I wasn't actually alone. I was all they had now too, so I couldn't fail them. I had to manage something, somehow. So I worked as hard as I could, just so they could have a future. So they could live the life they wanted as best as they could."

Her gaze fell on her knees. Georges could only imagined how hard it must have been for a single mother to raise her two daughters alone. As someone who had been born into a rich and noble family and had been blessed his entire life, her situation seemed so far away from his own.

"But at some point, you know, these little girls started to grow up... and I had to realize and accept that it is impossible for me to protect them against everything. That I had to let go of them. This is something every parent have to do, right? It is normal. But even so..."

She swallowed. "Even so, it kills me to know I wasn't able to protect my own child. When I realized I would never see Giselle again... I felt like I had to go through what I lived with Hugues' death once more, but a lot worse. Because this time... it was this person I had raised on my own, that depended so much on me, that I had failed. It is so painful to come to term with the fact... that I wasn't able... to give her that happy life I so wanted her to have..."

Georges looked away, towards the fountain — which was a lot less harder to contemplate than the bereaved woman next to him. He couldn't do or say anything to console her, after all. He never even met the child she had lost. Didn't even knew about her until...

Suddenly, the letter Michel had sent to their mother just before his mansion was raided by the knigts came back to his mind. The last letter his brother had written. Georges still remembered the kind serenity that had emanated from it. Michel's writing had seemed as if... he was at peace with himself. A bit anxious, maybe. But nonetheless determined, sure of his own self, hopeful about his future. Of course, Georges hadn't been able to see him in person so he couldn't really confirm it, but while reading his words... he felt it was the first time he had felt his brother as open and comfortable with himself. And the principal change for that was probably...

The woman he loved he mentioned in the letter. Georges was only making assumptions here, of course; he couldn't assert all of this with certainty — hell, he couldn't even assert that the woman his brother mentioned loving was Giselle. But... it was what made the more sense, and what his heart was telling him too.

He looked over at Margot once again. She was still staring at the fountain, her eyes unfocused. He thought... that if her daughter had truly been Michel's lover before his death... then that it was something that he should tell her. Michel and everything surrounding him had become a taboo no one should mention in his house, and Aimée certainly wouldn't approve of him talking about it. He could still remember the stern talk she had given him when he had started talking to his sons about their late uncles in her presence. But Margot deserved to know — and honestly, at this very moment, he considered this older woman as a lot more important than his wife.

"Margot," he called her softly. "I need to confess something to you."

The woman raised her head and looked at him curiously. "Yes?"

"I... I had a brother," he began. "Heh, heh, well, I had two, actually. An older brother, and a little brother a lot younger than me. We were... kinda close, the three of us." His throat felt tight — but he still forced the words out of his mouth. "But, um... my little bro — Michel, his name was Michel — he was, uh... a bit special. Our parents didn't like that, and so because of this, when he was sixteen, we had to... send him away in a mansion."

Margot looked at him intently. She probably wondered why he was telling her all of this, and Georges couldn't really blame her for being perplexed.

"He lived here in exile for... about ten years," Georges continued.

"For ten years? All alone?" Margot inquired, a manifest concern in her voice.

"Yes," Georges admitted. "Well, that was, until seven years ago... when your daughter, Giselle, was also sent there."

"Ah... I see..." Margot brought a hand to her mouth. "So she had been sent to a mansion... They always refused to tell us where she was..."

"They... lived about a year together in that mansion. And... after our father's death, Michel sent us a letter... saying he wished to come back home. And that he..." Georges looked straight into Margot's eyes. "That he wanted to go home with his lover... a woman he had fell in love with."

Margot gasped upon hearing this, and her eyes widened. "Oh dear... You don't mean..."

"He never mentioned the woman's name, but... I do believe he was talking about your daughter, yes..." He stopped for a moment, hesitating, and after remebering the letter he finally added:

"And I do believe... he loved her dearly."

Maybe it was a bit presumptuous to say this as he had never seen the two of them with his own two eyes... but it was just his gut feeling. Margot didn't reply anything, she just stared at him with wide astonished eyes... and as much as he dreaded this, Georges choose to continue talking.

"However... like I said, Michel was... a bit different. Our mother considered him to be... an hindrance... so instead of accepting their return at the capital, they... we..."

Georges paused a moment, then took a deep breath.

"It was decided to send knights at the mansion to execute Michel."

This admission of the truth still hurts, even after all these years. Georges didn't think it'll ever stop hurting. He could be on his deathbed and still feel his heart ache whenever thinking about this.

Of course, he left Michel's gender issues out of the picture — he felt it would be rude to his brother to talk about it without his permission, and it wasn't a very important detail to mention in this very moment. He also choose to left out Dee's involvement in this — how he had actually been the one to kill Michel — for the same reason.

"I don't know... what happened to Giselle after that," Georges admitted. "According to... the knights who were there, they didn't find any women in the mansion... So maybe she escaped... but it seems more likely that she's also..."

He couldn't bring himself to end his sentence. Margot stayed a moment in silence. Georges wondered if maybe he shouldn't have said that after all, that maybe he had made her pain only worse...

Until he heard a soft laugh.

"Oh... Oh my, I see! So even in this situation... she still managed to find love..." She laughed again, but this time he heard a small hiccup at the same time. "Thank goodness!"

Georges felt lost. He was expecting her to be devastated at those news, but... instead, she seemed... relieved.

"Thank goodness...?" He repeated.

"I always..." Margot sniffled, some tears shining in the corner of her wrinkled eyes. "I always worried about what must've happened to Giselle after she was sent away from the Bollinger house... Wondering if she spent the rest of her life in pain... if she was being mistreated in some way... if she died all alone and miserable..."

She looked up at Georges. Despite the tears in her eyes, she was smiling.

"But you just told me she had a lover, right? If she was able to fall in love with someone, then that mean that even if she went through some hardships... she was still able to find joy. She was still able to find peace and be happy. This is..."

Margot closed her eyes, and brought her hands to her chest.

"This is a lot more than I could've asked for..."

Georges could sort of understand why she reacted this way. It must've indeed be a relief to learn that at least her daughter had been in love and happy at some point. But still, to him... something about this felt off. He didn't comprehend how she could still see all of this in such a positive light. He didn't comprehend why she seemed to have such a good time talking with him... despite him having indirectly caused so much damage to her and her family.

“I… don’t understand,” Georges admitted. “Are you not... angry at me? I just told you that Giselle... had likely been killed because of our family problems... and I am… I mean, I am from the Bollinger household…”

I am one of the people who took your daughter away from you, is what he didn’t have the courage to say out loud.

Margot looked at him and smiled sadly. There was a natural, genuine kindness in her eyes, something so gentle that it could melt his heart.

He felt like crying.

“I do not have the energy to be angry anymore,” she simply answered. “Clém is angry; this is how she copes. I don’t know if one day she’ll stop being angry. But to me, anger would accomplish nothing. I am still hurt, of course. I am still so sorry about what happened to Giselle... and about what happened to your brother, too... I still miss my little girl every day. But…”

She stood up, and looked over at the fountain. As if drawn to her, Georges did the same unconsciously.

"Instead of being angry or mournful, I just want to spend the rest of my days thinking that at least my children had a happy life. And what you just told me about Giselle... that was what I'd hoped hearing for the last seven years."

Margot once again turned towards him... and tenderly, she cupped his cheek in her hand; her smile wide and fond.

"So thank you."

Georges was pretty sure he was going to cry now; but for some odd reason, no tears actually came. He didn't know what kind of expression he had at this moment, but Margot stood on her tiptoes, wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down into a hug.

So he gently returned her embrace in silence.

________________________________________________________________

When he came back home at the Bollinger house, it was late in the afternoon. The sky was just as gray as it had been when he had left; yet there was still no rain. After their weird awkward hug, Georges had escorted Margot back to her home. The woman kept talking about her girls, and she also asked some questions about Michel — Georges assumed she was very curious about what kind of man her youngest child had fallen in love with.

He got another glare from Clémence before leaving, but they didn't exchange any words. She was still very clearly defensive towards him, though Georges didn't blame her at all. He supposed Margot was going to relate to her what he had just told her, and he hoped this would at least bring her some closure. The old woman also insisted for him to come back visit them sometimes. Georges didn't know if he would — but a part of him had already decided he'd try to help them out a bit by giving them some money. He was pretty sure Clémence was going to refuse any money coming from the Bollingers, but he still felt the need to do something for them, or at least try to.

Upon entering his house, he was greeted by a few servants, but saw no traces of his wife or his sons. He had no idea where Aimée could be at this hour, but his kids were probably in their rooms — or at least Dieudonné was. And sure enough, the boy was there, crouched down on the floor with a myriad of colorful paint cans all around him.

"Oh, Dad! Welcome back!"

As soon as he saw his father, Dieudonné smiled and run up to him.

"Where were you?" The teenager continued. "You suddenly disappeared without telling anyone. I was beginning to wonder if something had happened to you!"

Georges grinned and ruffled his boy's hair. "Sorry about that, buddy. I'm fine, I was just out in town. Are you alone here? Where's Sév?"

"With Mother. As usual," Dieudonné said, shrugging.

"I see..."

It was pretty normal for Sév to rotated around his mother lately, so it wasn't surprising at all. But for some reason, this time that worried Georges a bit — though he quickly dismissed these thoughts.

His mind was full of way too many things to concern himself about this for now. He couldn't stop thinking about his brothers, about his parents, about all the mistakes he had made, about this maid he had never met and who he didn't even know the appearance of, about Clémence's bitter glare and Margot's sad, gentle words.

"Dad? Are you okay?"

Dieudonné softly tugged at his sleeve, tilting his head curiously. Georges looked at him. The tiny human being he had raised himself.

And then, just like Margot had done earlier, he wrapped his arms around his kid and hugged him tightly.

"Wow! Hey, what are you doing, Dad?"

The boy seemed startled at first, and tried to get himself out of the embrace. Dieudonné wasn't as repulsed by physical affection as Sév was, but he still was very much a teenage boy and thus was often embarrassed when Georges did things like that. However, he stopped struggling when he noticed his father's shoulders were shaking slightly.

"Dad...? Are you... Are you crying?"

Georges didn't answer anything — instead he just burried his head further in his son's neck. The tears that had threatened to roll during the entire afternoon finally escaped him now. His thoughts went to Michel. To Dee. To the two women he had just met today.

Then an odd thought crossed his mind. What would have happened if, back then, he had learned his mother's intention to kill Michel and had managed to stop Dee? If Michel had came back home with Giselle like intended?

He could have met her in person, he thought. Michel could have met his nephews. He could have married the woman he loved. That meant Georges could have met Clémence and Margot in actual happy circumstances. All of them could have been a family.

Or maybe things wouldn't have gone as well as this. Maybe there would have been other obstacles on the way.

But Georges would never knew, because his brother had died in that mansion and couldn't come back to life. Because his stupid mistakes had also indirectly caused the pain of an entire other family. Because there was no way to go back in time and fix this, because there was even no way for him to just apologize.

Because he had no other choice than to bear the weight of his own sins for the rest of his life.

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alwaysmychoices · 6 years

Text

“Hurt Like This”

Pairing: Liam x MC (Collins Alexander)

Synopsis: When Liam let Collins go, he rationalized that it was for her own good. He just didn’t think it would hurt like this…

Words: 2934

Part 4 of the Aftermath series ( I, II, III, IV, V, VI)

“Something that’s for my own good doesn’t hurt like this.”

Her voice rang in my ears, haunting me with every repetition. Every time I thought I’d put it out of my life, I heard it somewhere else. I heard it in the noise. I heard it in the silence. I heard it in the beat of my broken heart. The poignant phrase scarred me from the moment Collins said it in the hospital hallway, and I would never forget it.

When I closed my eyes, I saw her. I saw her broken eyes, the stunning sparkle diminished to desperation. I saw the redness staining her cheeks as tears escaped her. I saw the exhaustion in her stare and the hope she had when she saw me again. I saw the moment I broke her in a loop, a new detail sparking my attention each time. The red eyes. The tears. The hope. The despair. The way she’d handed me the ring with such confidence only for me to disappoint her once more.

But I didn’t want to see it anymore.

I drowned myself in whatever was in my cup, too anesthetized to recognize taste let alone appreciate it. My senses were solely dedicated to reliving my despair and dwelling on the heartbreak, and I sought numbness in bottles of scotch. I stared down the aged whiskey, a gift for Drake I’d yet to present him, but I couldn’t bear to open the bottle. The alcohol was meant to make the world stop moving, and I forced myself to drink coffee to make it move again. The royal surgeon surveyed my injuries and offered painkillers to compensate for my wounds, but I rejected them as unnecessary. How could I feel physical pain when I’d lost the love of my life? I’d broken her heart and sent her away, and the acute pain of that couldn’t compete with the discomfort of a knife.

The doctor prescribed fluids and bed rest, but I neglected his orders. I didn’t have the luxury of wailing in my discontent. Instead, I attended various emergency meetings, sitting with publicists and prime ministers alike to discuss the logistical aftermath of my assassination attempt, and I found comfort in the monotony of my role. It distracted me from the horrific truth that I was at fault for the night's events. The assassins aimed at my crown with loved ones in the crossfire.

As a monarch, I was apparently a disappointment. My young reign was marred by those willing to kill for their discontent, and I was disheartened by my apparent failure. My life was ruled by the opinion and approval of others. My childhood was plagued by Leo’s recklessness and was always the eager spare, hopeful to please and lacking the accolades. The monarchy didn’t need anymore scandals, and I restrained myself from life’s pleasures to be the perfect prince. My loyalty was demonstrated at every possible turn, forcing me to neglect my affection for the love of my life to meet courtly expectations. Cordonia was a part of my identity. Now able to serve my country as king, I hoped for Cordonia to prosper, but I was met with bullets and panic instead. The assassination attempt was unsuccessful, but it would undoubtedly hinder the Cordonian economy and contribute to national unrest.

The king may have been dismayed, but as a man, I was destroyed. My title placed my loved ones in direct danger. If they’d just never met me… Drake wouldn’t have been shot. Maxwell and Hana wouldn’t have panicked and been presumed missing for several hours. Olivia wouldn’t have had to stab an attacker with her hairpin, and Collins would have been safe.

Without me, her life was easier. I thought back to the girl I’d met in New York. She was so young and carefree, standing on the cusp of real adulthood in the city where dreams came true. Graduating in only a few short months, she was just about to embark on the life she always wanted. She told me about her life back then in small anecdotes- some about her friends and their antics and others just centered on the city she loved so much.

I was ashamed of how little I knew about her. Until a few months ago, I didn’t know how her parents died, and until my coronation, I didn’t realize they were deceased. She listened to every story of mine, and I hadn’t noticed that I didn’t return the favor. For me, she put everything behind her and showed no remorse, but she had every right to harbor discontent. My love shackled her to sexist customs and deprived her of privacy.

She left her life to follow me to Cordonia, acting on the hope that I shared her affection. Adapting to every custom and rising to every challenge, Collins became what I needed her to be. She refrained from public outbursts even when she wanted to scream. She smiled when she wanted to cry and allowed her name to be run through the dirt for the sake of poise. She accepted my offer to be a mistress during my false engagement, and she was willing to take on a life of stolen moments for me. She was magnificent and independent, and she loved me enough to do everything she could to make it work. She told me that she’d only ever tried to love me, and it was the truth.

Collins Alexander loved me, and I was the luckiest man in the world.

Her heart was in my hands, and I crushed it for her own good.

I practically snarled at the thought. For her own good? Who was I to even decide that? Why couldn’t our love affair be full of happiness and not a tragedy? Why couldn’t she have just never loved me?

I closed my eyes again, and I saw Collins once more.

She was so vulnerable, so exposed. She needed me in ways neither of us had ever felt before. She loved me and needed my love in return. She needed my protection, and I’d failed her. She was targeted because of that ring- that promise that I would keep her by my side in sickness and in health. Her strength was unparalleled, but determination couldn’t outwit a bullet aimed at her. I could give her the world, but I could never give her what she deserved: privacy and safety. The fundamental aspects of her life were altered by a ridiculous crown on the top of my head.

After the attack, I’d never wanted to abdicate more in my life. I wanted to throw away every medal and shed every title, and I wanted to run far away with Collins. But as much as I craved a world just for the two of us, we would never get the opportunity. We were cursed by the circumstances of my birth and the recklessness of the original heir.

“Your majesty?” a small voice prodded me, interrupting my thoughts, and I forced my eyes open once more. An assistant stared back at me, clutching a clipboard to calm the nerves of talking to the king. I feigned to smile to put her at ease, silently cursing myself for being so perfect all the time. What did the perfect king really get? He got shot at and lost the woman he loved.

“Yes?” I prompted, eager to end the conversation. I didn’t want to talk. It was taxing to function, let alone maintain etiquette.

“The press conference has been scheduled for noon, and I’ve been asked to inform you that your schedule allows for sleep, Sire,” she faltered, uncomfortable with the correct terms and how to converse with the king. I felt stripped of my humanity in the exchange. Tonight, I was a crown, not a victim.

It was the first opportunity to sleep, and I was too exhausted to pass it up. I offered a polite thanks, finishing whatever liquid was in my glass and leaving my office. It was a long walk through the palace to my quarters, a trait I’d designed to give myself a sense of leaving work when I left after a long day. I’d picked it when I thought about coming home to Collins and reveling in domestic bliss, but now, it was another reminder of what I wouldn’t have.

My wing was still and silent, and it was deafening compared to the chaos in the rest of the palace. Here, I was left alone with my thoughts, and I couldn’t imagine a worse punishment.

In the dimly lit room, my world looked as grey and monotonous as it felt. Collins was warmth and light, and without her, the world was lacking. Hints of her laughter echoed in the hall, a cruel illusion to a melancholy man. Shedding layers as I approached my bed, I was stopped by the artwork in the center of the room.

It was supposed to be a gift for Collins, proof of my commitment to our relationship as we entered the intrigues of courtly life as a couple. After a magical night in Paris, I spent so many nights looking back at the selfie we’d taken together on the Eiffel Tower. Somehow, Collins captured every ounce of our happiness and love into one little photo, and I treasured it. When the plot was revealed and her name cleared, I’d immediately ordered a copy to be printed, hoping to present it to her as a reminder of how far we’d come together. Tonight, I’d hoped to bring Collins here to see it and offer for her to stay with me here until the wedding.

This portrait was so hopeful and full of affection that it stunned me. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t be angry. I could only stare and be wistful.

“You just have to come to me,” Collins’ requests lingered in the back of my mind.

I could end this. I knew I could. I could find Collins right now and take it all back. I could live the rest of my life with the woman I loved, and I could pretend that I’d never left in the first place. Neither of us had to be miserable. All I had to do was come back.

But how could I do that?

How could I run to her when I knew it put her in danger? How could I ask her to pick me over her safety when I knew she would pick me? How could I ask her to give up everything because I selfishly loved?

My breast pocket felt heavy, and I carefully removed the diamond ring. It caught a stray sunbeam, reflecting back in my face and reminding me of how happy I’d been when I put it on her finger. The night I proposed was the best of my life. Even on one knee, I didn’t know if she was willing to take the title associated with our marriage, but she’d surprised me and said yes without a second thought.

I placed the ring in front of the photo, silently appreciating the life we almost had, and I felt tears spring to my eyes. I’d hurt her so much that my body ached. My skin burned from the lack of her touch, every nerve ending scorched from the effort of staying away. Even now, I knew it would never get better. I would never stop wanting her or loving her, and I lost resolve a million times an hour.

Turning away from the photo, every step away was like walking on knives. I was walking away from her at every chance I had because I knew I had to. The moment I lost my strength, the moment I would go back and put her life in danger. Collins deserved so much more…

I shed my suit as I approached my bed, wincing from my injuries as I slid between the sheets. The other side of the bed was notably empty, and as I took a deep breath, I could smell her perfume lingering on the other pillow.

My breath caught in my throat as I reached out for it, taking a greedy whiff of the pillow and savoring the familiarity. If I thought about it long enough, I could feel her touch. I could see her blinding smile when she woke up next to me, and I could hear her soft laughter as she deliriously submersed herself in the happiness of being with me.

I never deserved her…

I forced myself to repeat it over and over, waiting for it to sink in. Collins deserved more than I could give her. She deserved privacy and safety, and she would happy again… I tried and failed to block out the image of her begging for me, and I hated myself for what I’d done to her. It was one thing to put myself through pain, but her? My protective instincts cursed myself for what I’d done.

Overcome, I sobbed into the pillow and breathed in her scent with wavering strength. I needed her. Fuck, I needed her. I loved her more than anything in the world. I loved her enough to let go, but I would never emerge from this depressed self-hate for doing it.

I was lulled to sleep by her perfume, hugging the pillow with desperation. I was doing the right thing. I was protecting the woman I loved from the reality of life with me, but I would have done anything to stop feeling it.

Alone in the palace, I was King Liam, the selfless. A year ago, such a title would have made me proud, but Collins changed everything. She made me question what I thought I knew, and she made me want things I couldn’t have. She loved Liam the Person in pure intensity, and it was her downfall. Her hope in me only brought her despair.

I wished to have her close. I longed to let her in and share my whole self, opening ourselves to the ultimate intimacy, but I couldn’t do it. My selflessness was just limiting fear. I couldn’t bear to watch her get hurt, and with me, the threats would always be present.

I had to stay away for both of us.

But I never thought it would hurt like this…

Author’s note: this isn’t exactly what I had in mind, and I wish it had been more emotional. But I hope you enjoyed it!

@liam-chris-knights

#Liam x mc #play choices #choices fanfiction #choices #liam x mc fanfiction #king liam #king liam x mc fanfiction #royal romance #the royal romance #trr #fanfiction #pixelberry

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eleiszon-blog · 6 years

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The Monster Mash

Because it’s a mash of monsters. Get it? Shut up.

OKAY, so I previously covered Jeffries' ordeal here but skipped over the details of 'one of their meetings'. That's what this entry is about here. Let's get right into it then. First off, a quick rundown of the function of the spirits:

MIKE and BOB: Head honchos. BOB was MIKE’s familiar but is getting some dangerous ideas. The Little Man, though separate from MIKE, represents him in most cases. MIKE himself is never seen outside of his host, Philip Gerard.

The Chalfonts: Messengers and couriers. They deliver information or warnings (as when they spoke of Harold’s suicide and sought to alert Laura about Leland’s possession) and also handle delivery of the ring, hence their presence in Fat Trout Trailer Park right until Teresa Banks’ death.

The Woodsmen/Electrician: Spirits whose primary charge is to operate the conduits between realms. Wood, electricity and such. These are related to but different from those entities in The Return. We’ll get to that. The Electrician is the same as a Woodsman, the title only unique because he works with electricity instead of wood.

The Dutchman/Jumping Man: A direct extension and servitor of JUDY, somewhat analogous to the Little Man for MIKE. We’ll talk more about him soon too. Regarding the double name, given his place in “the Dutchman’s”, I have adopted this name in place of the old one. It seems more definitive of his role.

All caught up? Cool. Now to the meeting:

We begin with a shot of the #6 pole, representing as it does a base, material space -- as of a place where the inhabitants are driven by harvest and consumption. “They sat quietly for hours.” -- They obviously did NOT sit quietly, and it wasn’t “for hours”. My conclusion has always been that wherever Jeffries went was an in-between place, not Earth but not strictly the 'other’ place either. Wherever he is, he gets the distorted time of those realms (similar to Coop spending hours for his few minutes in the Lodge back in season two) but has an incomplete sensory perception - he cannot hear the inhabitants of that space.

Before we continue, I’m going to detour for a moment to clarify a few observations. Here is a wide shot of the meeting and its attendees.

The smoking box resembles the smoking facade of the Convenience Store in Part 15. This is another tie between the Dutchman and JUDY, albeit a mere visual-symbolic one.

The garmonbozia feast. BOB’s portion is larger than the Little Man’s. MIKE may (or may not) be stronger than BOB but BOB is the greatest power presently in this room, outranking the Little Man and commanding the larger share. This holds some small relevance later as the Little Man demonstrates some semblance of fear in handling BOB himself.

A bucket, perhaps containing garmonbozia, sits at Pierre's feet. Mrs. Chalfont sits not on the couch but on the arm of it. Both of these suggest that, contrary to what their apparent ages might suggest, Pierre is the stronger of these spirits. This is supported as well in the series by her refusal to touch the creamed corn while Pierre hordes the lot. By all evidence, she functions as his familiar.

The Woodsmen here all have a noticeable trait: Incredibly fake beards. David Lynch is a very attentive fellow. If he needed heavy-bearded cast, he’d have gotten them. The falseness, I conclude, is intentional: These are spirits whose human souls are yet intact...But not much. They are on the very cusp of becoming Woodsmen proper, dark agents of the negative power that is JUDY.

He speaks of ‘chrome’ but I don’t believe it’s so literal. BOB finds himself reflected in a mirror as Leland peers into the surface. The takeaway here is that there are methods that can reveal these spirits on Earth. Mirrors are one such method. Chrome may in fact be another but we do not see this. A line in the script, which did not endure to reach the film, states “Our world. With chrome.” While the canonicity of non-final script material is questionable, this meshes interestingly with the present line. Our world---Chrome. The Black Lodge is full of shadow selves (which, you’ll recall from my post about Dale's season two Lodge ordeal, are the figures he encountered there) and doppelgangers while the Dutchman’s resembles actual physical establishments in the human world. Their world--chrome--reflects our image.

The Dutchman, pictured, screeches throughout the proceedings. Take note of his characteristics: His face is Pierre’s mask. His suit, the Little Man’s color. His skin (except his face), dark like the Electrician. Especially note his wooden implement. In Part 15, a Woodsman utilizes a wooden rod to call down a second Woodsman from what appears to be a ‘higher’ space in the store. I believe the tool here serves a similar function: It interfaces the dimensions. The Dutchman is an amalgamation of the Lodge entities because he is an extension of JUDY itself, and they are JUDY’s ‘children’. The tool there is a perpetual link to the void-realm JUDY actively inhabits -- it is literally JUDY’s link to the Convenience Store, and the Dutchman cannot exist here without that link. (Also, to further the direct-avatar-of-JUDY angle, the Dutchman is viewed extensively in a fish-eye perspective connotative of ‘otherness’ even in this already ‘other’ space.)

Speaking of JUDY, we need to discuss the monkey. The monkey appears twice in the series. The first time, the monkey appears behind Pierre's mask which is in this case symbolic of the Dutchman's face. The second time, it appears as the Little Man is consuming his garmonbozia and whispers "JUDY." There are two associations to be made here: Their consumption of garmonbozia feeds JUDY. And the Dutchman - limited to little but jumping and screeching, his very being merely a twisted, cobbled expression of the Lodge's creatures - is essentially the Black Lodge equivalent of a monkey. If JUDY wound a tiny hand-cranked music box, the Dutchman would dance and collect coins. The Little Man is at least capable of his own will, though he often chooses to serve MIKE. The Dutchman has no such capability. His will is bound and chained. His screeches are an outlet for an existence tormented by its very nature.

“Electricity...” - The prime conduit of the spirits. They travel through it, interface with it. As I’ve shown in the image, they’re also seen to interface through pigment (as they work through Laura’s painting) and fire (the Chalfont trailer leaves the Earth scorched, as does the travel of Jeffries’ tulpa). Not shown in the image though is their working through wood. As noted in the prior section, wood can serve as an interfacing tool as well but it can too be a travel conduit: I believe that this is how Margaret’s log operates, her husband trapped wandering to-and-fro from Lodge to log. Her cryptic advices are from the Lodge itself, through him. Wood is also operated as a conduit by Josie though, in her case, it is more akin to a prison cell as she is simply locked up in the fixtures of the Great Northern. Pete sees her once. Moving on...

This is straightforward. People often try to associate ‘pure air’ with Buenos Aires by translation but seriously...They literally descend from ‘pure air’. They’re spirits. ‘Up and down’, between the worlds...It’s their mode of existence.

This line is in the script and I presume was filmed because this shot is available online. I consider the absence of this bit from the film one of the series’ mistakes. It perfectly clarifies the nature of these entities and the Little Man’s just-prior lines. Whatever else that they are, they are non-physical. Even their forms here are illusion. They have only willed themselves into quasi-physical state by manipulation of atoms. Their true states, their actual forms, I do not think we ever see. And regarding MIKE, we never even see one of these quasi-forms but only the human host. While the Chalfonts use these quasi-forms on Earth - presumably a choice which also enables them to manipulate wider environments, as they change up entire trailers and such thanks to not having their powers bottled into humans - MIKE and BOB favor human hosts.

‘The owls are not what they seem.’ --- One of the ways they engage in “intercourse between the two worlds” is through animals as the Electrician notes here. Owls are a favorite of BOB and perhaps others.

Pain and sorrow. The sustenance of the Black Lodge. Notably, as the Little Man refers to this, BOB is seen looking…Discontent. I have no doubt that he associates a deep disdain with that substance: Namely, that most of his harvest gets claimed by MIKE.

At this point, one of the Woodsmen performs a gesture. This held little apparent meaning until The Return, where the Fireman raises his hand similarly...And indeed, as BOB begins his outburst at the meeting, the Little Man acts similarly. The Fireman’s gesture proceeds the materialization of a device. The other two have no apparent effect but one which may be extrapolated. I believe this gesture is another interfacing mechanism but where the Dutchman’s tool opens doors between realms, this gesture accesses energies. For the Fireman, it taps into creative energies - present in the sea outside his fortress - to provide the device. For the Woodsman, I believe it is but a demonstration tied to the Electrician’s statement. ‘Animal life’, being lesser and simpler than human, may be utilized without actively being on Earth by merely latching upon their life energy. For the Little Man, I believe it is merely a fearful gesture. BOB’s outburst puts a look of some slight shock upon his face. I think he’s threatening BOB in a sense. He himself is weaker, of course...But MIKE is not, and I believe the Little Man by virtue of being “the arm” can borrow his master’s power if necessary.

Formica was originally produced as a substitute for mica (a substitute ‘for mica’--Formica) which was used as electrical insulation. That’s the key: Formica is electrical insulation. Green...The color of the table, but more importantly the color of the ring. The ring is electrical insulation. It prevents electrical current from flowing through something. How do the Black Lodge spirits move? Through electricity. So, say, if a girl wore the ring, ‘electricity’ would be barred from her. A spirit would be incapable of inhabiting her.

As BOB begins to grow aggravated, the electronics in the room malfunction and the Dutchman screeches. BOB’s fury is a powerful thing. Of note here is that this machine reappears in The Return. There, it appears to alert the Dutchman to Mr. C’s arrival. Here, it appears to pacify the creature as, once the device is handled, the Dutchman goes from an aggressive stance to merely howling at the sky. The spirits are ‘electricity’. The machine may serve as a modulator, being the only way the others are able to commune directly with the Dutchman on account of his being essentially just a dumb puppet for JUDY.

Here, BOB is just setting a challenge. The Little Man thinks he can rein BOB in, bar him from doing as he wills. He angrily denies it. He has a will and it shall be done. Momentum. As he throws the figurative gauntlet, the Little Man is seen performing the hand gesture mentioned earlier.

Much is debated of these three words. Are they past tense? Are they a command? Are they a warning? I think they’re an observation. The tense doesn’t work for that, you’ll notice, but time is a funny thing in this place. Pierre is saying that BOB felled a victim---only BOB hasn’t done it yet. But he will, and so he basically already did. Time is a funny thing in this place.

In response to Pierre, the Little Man’s expression becomes one of...Surprise? Disappointment? Resignation? In any case, he has little choice. BOB must be brought to heel. He plays his move: The ring. It will insulate its wearer. It will demand its share of garmonbozia. BOB will steal nothing anymore.

They ‘share’ a laugh of opposing expression. The Little Man thinks he’s won the game. BOB derides the very notion that he could lose. Neither concedes anything in this moment.

The meeting concluded at a stalemate, though each believes it a victory, the Little Man chants and BOB casts a portal of fire to exit the convenience store.

The two descend together into the Waiting Room. It is this point which ‘Jeffries’ refers to later with ‘I followed.’ as he tracks them back here prior to being caught. And thus this is the point where Jeffries’ recollection ends and, his purpose done, he is pulled back through space to Buenos Aires.

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thrashermaxey · 5 years

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Ramblings: Deadline notes, Currie analysis, Trade Speculation, Zuccarello fallout and so much more (Feb 25)

***

With regards to today’s NHL Trade Deadline coverage, this will be the 14th year I am covering it on this site. Please check in throughout the day to see my breakdown of each NHL trade. When things get too nuts, Cliffy and Ian will be around to do a few as well. We’re fast, and we’re thorough. You’ve seen it year after year – and if you haven’t, then you’ll be impressed. We have the full list of trades, player links, and forum links related to that trade, in our Trade Deadline Tracker.

When I saw Josh Currie scored his first goal and Allan Walsh, whom I’m assuming is his agent, tweeted that he had three consecutive 20-goal AHL seasons after working his way up from the ECHL, I wanted to look into him. Much like I’m always looking for the next possible Martin St. Louis – a smaller underrated player who becomes a superstar (so far I’ve dug up Cam Atkinson and Vinnie Hinostroza – obviously still waiting for the next steps if they ever come, but it’s as close as we’ve gotten so far), I’m also always on the lookout for the next possible David Desharnais. And as much as you probably have distaste for Desharnais due to his more recent years, he really was a fantasy boon early on. He was a prolific scorer in junior, was plunked into the ECHL without being drafted or having an NHL contract and worked his way up to the NHL. In his first couple of seasons he was not only very fantasy relevant, but it was also great because you were able to scoop him out from under the noses of your supposedly savvy fellow GMs and he helped you very quickly. The fun part, of course, is the ‘under the nose of your fellow GM’ part.

So what do we have in Currie? Well, he did get 104 points in his final year of the QMJHL…but he was 20 years old when he did that and tons of players have done that over the years. It’s almost expected of you at 20 years old to top 100 points in the Q. The year prior, he did get 30 goals but only managed 46 points. The rest of his PEI team wasn’t loaded with goal scorers, so maybe he could have had more assists with better star power around him, but he’s still a sniper. He’s a late October birth so he actually began those two years at 18 and 19. He went directly to the ECHL when he turned pro and steadily improved his numbers – from 41 points in 70 games to 49 points to a 65 pace. He made the jump to the AHL two months into the latter year, and had season-over-season points-per-game averages of 0.45, 0.54, 0.68 and 0.76 before getting the call to the big show last week at the age of 26. However, what’s interesting is the latter number includes 24 goals (though only 13 assists) in just 49 games. Very different from Desharnais in the following ways:

1. Currie is a sniper

2. Currie’s production is less than Desharnais’ at every level

3. Currie is a winger

On the surface, it appears that his upside is lower than Desharnais was. Clearly Currie is a passenger, whereas Desharnais was more of a driver albeit a low-level one. Put Currie with Kyle Brodziak, he gets 12 goals and 20 points. Put Currie with Connor McDavid? Because Desharnais never had a McDavid-type in winger-form to play with, he couldn’t possibly match Currie’s upside. So can Currie succeed where Ty Rattie, another solid AHL sniper, failed? Will he even get a chance to try? That’s the question. I’ll be watching as – for now – he’s just another one of a hundred players with a 1% chance of truly thriving with a lucky break. But as Jim Carrey once noted:

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Trade Speculation

If Tampa Bay does any trade other than a backup fourth liner or a No. 7 or 8 defenseman, then they are overthinking things. The roster as is should win the Stanley Cup, all that’s left now is pro roster injury protection.

It’s not just the big-name players you should be watching for today. Sure, that’s going to be much more exciting. But these are great players – they’re doing well now, they’ll do well no matter where they go. As far as fantasy is concerned, it’s not even going to move the needle. What we should be looking for, as fantasy owners, are the underused and underrated players who could stumble into a great opportunity. Yes, the odds will be slim in the way that Ty Rattie (or the aforementioned Currie) could get a chance and thrive. And between slim odds of getting decent ice time, and risk of injury (that to me derailed Rattie twice this year), you probably won’t see anything special. But the exciting thing is that you could. Chris Kunitz was once claimed off waivers. Patrick Sharp was traded to Chicago and considered a third-liner. Lots of examples out there. I wonder if Austin Czarnik goes anywhere. Or Nic Petan. Players not only on the cusp, but possibly getting their last shot. Keep in mind that whatever team they go to it will be a team with a shortage of forwards so they’ll get their chance.

Another name to watch for is Daniel Carr, who is embarrassing the AHL right now with 66 points in 47 games which is by far the league lead. Or whoever the Blues trade today. Could Robby Fabbri or Sammy Blais go? Any takers for Jordan Schmaltz as a throw-in?

At midnight, Sunday/Monday, Bob McKenzie reported that Gustav Nyquist was about to be traded to San Jose. I think we can assume that will happen. UPDATE: Deal done, for a 2nd and a conditional 3rd that can become a second if the Sharks re-sign him or make it to the Final. Trade breakdown on this will come in the morning (or is already up if you’re reading this later).

Lots of minor moves as teams gear up for life beyond the deadline. The Islanders have signed Dennis Seidenberg, who had loyally remained with the team without a contract all this time. Depth option at less than half the cap hit. The Bruins have signed winger Lee Stempniak, also for depth. Both players need to get through waivers in order to join the team. The Sabres signed a depth goalie in Adam Wilcox, the Islanders have signed depth goalie Jeremy Smith, and the Panthers have signed depth goalie Chris Driedger. Teams are making sure that they have all the bases covered.

Anaheim Ducks traded Brian Gibbons to Ottawa for Patrick Sieloff. I’m not sure about that one, other than Ottawa maybe looking for an NHL body for their lineup to give the kids more AHL time…

Goalie A vs. Goalie B

If you could take Goalie A, who has a strong likelihood of getting you 40 wins for the foreseeable future, is in his prime on a great team…or Goalie B, who also has a strong likelihood of getting you 40 wins, is probably a little more talented, has a slight chance of getting you 49 wins, but carries say a 10% chance of missing half the season with an injury. Which one do you choose? The answer is, both goalies are great, I’d be fine with either. And they easily top the rest of the field.

I’ve been taking heat on Twitter and FB over having Frederik Andersen at the top of my goalie list over Andrei Vasilevskiy. It’s the usual problem for writers when people don’t read the full article (or in this case, the intro). Andersen is not over Vas. He is in fact equal. They are in the same Tier and deservedly so. If you can’t see the reasoning I outlined above, you have a right to that opinion. If you want to see mine, I proudly present it every month. But do me the favor of reading the intro too, and know exactly what it is you are criticizing.

This is unbelievable and I feel horrible for Dallas and their fans. But they lost Mats Zuccarello for four to six weeks after suffering a (apparent – at least as I write this) broken arm in the third period Sunday. He took a Connor Murphy shot off the arm. This is after Zuccarello slid seamlessly into the lineup and picked up a goal and an assist.

King Henrik breaks down, discussing Zuccarello:

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Jamie Benn also left game, but he left early and is day to day. Dallas, as I noted in the trade breakdown, was a three-forward team when it came to offense and it makes a huge difference when they added a fourth. It changes everything. So many more options now up front at even strength and on the power play. But now, instead of having four stud forwards they are down to two? Brutal!

In the game against Chicago, Patrick Kane had his 20-game point streak snapped. But Erik Gustafsson surges on with his seventh point in three games and 33 in his last 31. He also has 38 in 39.

Kris Letang and Brian Dumoulin each left Saturday’s game. The latter has a concussion, the former has an upper-body injury.

Rangers’ line combination with Zuccarello gone:

26.4%

KREIDER,CHRIS – VESEY,JIMMY – ZIBANEJAD,MIKA

19.1%

FAST,JESPER – NAMESTNIKOV,VLADISLAV – STROME,RYAN

10%

ANDERSSON,LIAS – BUCHNEVICH,PAVEL – CHYTIL,FILIP

7.7%

BRICKLEY,CONNOR – NIEVES,BOO

So Vesey has slid into Zuke’s spot and Lias Andersson takes Vesey’s spot. Advantage: Vesey, who picked up two points in the game.

Brett Connolly has seven points in his last nine games, but is still only getting 11 minutes of ice time. He’s already at a career high of 33 points and has tied his high of 15 goals. I’d like to see him get another chance – he got all his chances too early in his career. But now is the time he’s ready. As a big 6-3 player he needed more time than the average player. (And yes, Striker, that fits in with your model! Love that model)

Another hat trick for Joe Pavelski gives him 18 points in his last 13 games, with nine of them goals. Kevin Labanc has 15 points in his last 15 games.

After three games with the Minnesota Wild, Ryan Donato has four points. Now, before you start building that Donato shrine it’s important to note a couple of things. First, he made a similar splash at the end of last season when he arrived in Boston. Second, of his three assists all three of them were secondary assists. Great player, good upside, but before declaring that he has arrived I am preaching caution.

Jake Allen has faced 111 shots over the last three starts and he has stopped 105 of them. Perhaps the fear of losing his job is belatedly starting to kick in. But what he needs is to go three consecutive games without allowing four goals. The last time he did that was early December.

Speaking of Austin Czarnik, who I made note of in the trade speculation above, I was wondering why after he scored in three consecutive games did he only get 10 minutes of ice time on Saturday? It just makes a Dobber Darling become even more of one when the coach holds him back. On Sunday he scored again, and it was the game winner. His ice time was 12:15.

Sunday also marked the first ever NHL game between Matthew Tkachuk versus Brady Tkachuk. Matthew won the game but Brady was the only Tkachuk to put a point on the board.

The Senators scratched Mark Stone, Mikkel Boedker and Cody Ceci, each of whom could be dealt before the deadline. With Stone out of the lineup, the top scoring forward on the Sens was Chris Tierney. And yet he still wasn’t on the first PP unit. That trio was Tkachuk, Bobby Ryan and Anthony Duclair. Frankly I prefer the second unit that had Tierney, Logan Brown and Drake Batherson.

Interesting note from the NHL about Saturday’s outdoor game – 13 of the league’s 27 outdoor games have resulted in come-from-behind victories. That’s a shade under half. No lead is safe when the game is outside.

The Coyotes retired Shane Doan’s number on Sunday, as they should. The guy played his entire career with the franchise and finished with 402 goals and 972 points in 1540 games. So close to 1000 points, I can see why he flirted with the idea of playing for another season had there been any takers. Doan’s best fantasy season was 2007-08 when he had 78 points in 80 games, though in 2005-06 he had 30 goals, 66 points and 123 PIM.

Patrik Laine has three goals in his last two games and is now on the top line with Blake Wheeler and Kyle Connor. It gives Laine 28 goals on the season. Last year after 62 games he had 31 goals, so is his season really so bad? Assuming you’re not in a caveman league that still counts plus/minus, that is (ha ha). He could be right back to his usual self in two more good games, that’s all it takes.

Josh Morrissey was injured in the third period. He left the game and did not return.

When Clayton Keller scored Sunday it was his first point in seven games and his first goal since January 20.

Personal Note

Friday marks 18 months since my stem cell transplant. Most of you already know this, but in May of 2017 I was diagnosed with Myelodysplasia and by July it had expedited to Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML). Thankfully a world donor was a 100% match and after a summer in-hospital receiving chemo and radiation, I received the transplant. Today I am happy to report that I feel normal, and I am in disbelief that this can be the case. And of course, grateful. What 18 months means is that I am (or will be on Friday) officially halfway to being deemed cured of cancer. Needless to say, the more difficult half is behind me. At this point, the only thing different in my life versus before is the fact that I need to check into the hospital every few weeks for tests, and I need to gradually re-do all my vaccinations. In fact, things are even better because with the new blood I have more energy, and when I exercise it actually makes a difference – the body processes energy and calories better, to say nothing of an improved immunity. (You can read my initial statement here, my update here – and you can register to donate your stem cells here for Canada and here for the USA. As you can see this does save lives.)

Anyway, this is an enjoyable day for hockey fans and I just thought I would add my good news to that.

See you…all day long as I pound out the trade analysis…

from All About Sports https://dobberhockey.com/hockey-rambling/ramblings-deadline-notes-currie-analysis-trade-speculation-zuccarello-fallout-and-so-much-more-feb-25/

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