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royal-writer · 5 years

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Daddy’s Little Girl

Time to get aboard the family train again, toot toot! I still love the concept of family life Essamon... immensely.

With the council conference over and the townsfolk headed back to their homes and municipals, Amon allowed himself to sink into his chair at the head of the table. He wore of a smile and not for the first time tonight. The mood left behind by the departed crowd perfumed the atmosphere with good cheer and positivity. He was also shamefully a bit happy to have concluded the meeting. Giddy to be free of the work, and now open to let in the remainder of his night.

Scooting back his chair, he pushed it in and walked the left side to push in two of the chairs left jaggedly out. A housemaid curtsied as she passed him, and he gave her an appreciative smile and grateful nod as she went to fetch some of the mugs and glasses still sitting on the table.

From the dining hall he made his way to the stairwell, and strode past the open balcony that looked down to the table and dance floor. He scratched a hand to his chin and the dense whiskers that covered it with a thoughtful gaze upon the grand piano. It had been a while since they’d last held a gala. Maybe Essätha would enjoy the idea of a ball, either private to friends or family or allowing a reception of guests. Each sounded as good as the other, as long as he had the chance to dance with his captivating wife.

As he entered the hall that lead to the bedrooms, he could hear the soft stutter of a timid voice, followed by the gentle praise of another. He lowered his boots to muffle their noise, and straightened his posture as he approached the cracked doors leading into the master suite sitting area.

“A snake saw the mouse, and the mouse looked good.”

Raising his eyebrows curiously, the nobleman pressed a hand to one of the doors and pushed it open. It was nearly soundless, but what little creaks it made didn’t interrupt on the pair in the room. Stepping inside, he could make out the shape of Essie’s dark hair, braided and falling down her back. Kneeling on the floor in front of her, with a children’s book splayed out on the coffee table, Hepsiba swayed from side to side as her damp black locks were carefully braided too.

“Where are you going to, little brown moussse?” Sibby read, rasping her s’s and mimicking a voice similar to how her mother did when she read the book. “Come for a feast in my logpile house.”

Amon smiled fondly. Silently watching his two gentleladies, and listening to the spirited rise in ‘Sibby’s voice as she read her book. She kept her index finger pointed to the word as she sounded it out with purpose. She’d this one enough time that she could breeze through it without doing so, but somehow the youngster seemed keen on learning the sound of her syllables and breaking up the vowels and consonants as she learned how to read and write.

“It’s wonderfully good for you snake, but no – I’m having a feast with a gruffalo.”

“Oh no! Not a gruffalo,” Essätha piped up, leaning down to kiss their daughter’s cheek as she dropped the braid; a perfectly centered green bow wrapped around the ends.

Hepsiba giggled, rasping once more in the serpent’s voice: “A gruffalo? What’s a gruffalo?”

Having moved stealthfully through the room so far, Amon slunk low along the side of the sofa, a wild grin on his face as he raised his voice in a squeaky trill: “A gruffalo? Why, don’t you know? His eyes are orange, his tongue is black, he has purple prickles all over this back!”

As he finished the next script, the nobleman lunged over the arm of the chair with a playful snarl. Hepsiba let out a shriek of laughter, throwing herself against Essätha’s lap for protection. A heartfelt smile softened her features as she reached down, soothing a calming hand down their child’s back.

“Your father gave you a fright, did he?”

“No! He’s used that voice before, I knew it was daddy,” she defended, turning her bright eyes up to her mom, and then over to him.

There was no better feeling than those wide-eyed wonders filled with questions and innocence beaming up at him and joined with the endearing twinkle of his lover’s eyes peering up at him. Each of his girls wearing a smile overflowing with love. Lighting up their faces, and turning his heart into putty mush in their hands.

“I was reading mom ‘The Gruffalo’!” Their firstborn proudly declared. “She says I’m doing very well.”

“I can tell,” Amon praised, rising up from his crouched position. His face felt ready to split in two from grinning so hard as he circled around the remainder of the sofa, and settled down close to the duo.

“Mmmhm,” Essie hummed, stroking the top of her head. “You’ve had your bath, you’re in your nighties, and you’ve read me a book all after a day of being the most well-behaved little girl in the world. I’m so proud of you, my little viper. You were very polite and patient today, even when everyone was busy and there was lots of new people.”

The tempo of Hepsiba’s breathing increased excitedly as she whipped her face from her mother, to him, and back and forth again. She finally settled her bright gaze upon him. Her eyes, the Illiad heir realized, were a nearly identical match to her mother’s. Warm honeyed golden brown in an amber gaze, they were burning bright like the sun and ripe with emotion and kindness.

“Was I good today, daddy?” she inquired sheepishly, searching his face for a sign of his approval.

He scoffed, hardly believing she had to ask. Her eager face was crowned like a halo. Vibrant with life, wanting just a hint of his support. Something he was readily willing to let her have, never having the harsh bite of his father’s words or belittling cold stare. He doused her with compliments and showered her with love. Even when she required a gentle reprimanding, he mapped his words carefully and always ended every teachable moment by reminding her how much he loved her; how much he cared, and she would have both of these from him, always.

Having children, he committed himself to fatherhood in equal measure as he did being a husband. They both needed commitment, nurturing, understanding, courtesy, and patience. It was a balance between this, and his work, but all of it was all grand and every moment was worth it. And doing all these things made him a better man, and the best version of himself.

“You were a perfect little angel as always, my dear Marie.”

The word was slow to sink into his brain. Still smiling so gratefully down at his daughter’s marvelous face, and watching as her glee turned to doubt. Troubled, with big eyes and knitted eyebrows and a short little frown of misunderstanding.

It began to dawn on him gradually. Storm clouds rolling in from the west, and his mouth hung open in sudden and grotesque horror.

His breath hitched. His thoughts swam.

Marie Farthing is dead, you old fool.

Amon didn’t know what was worse: the cold reminder, his own thoughtless words, or the confusion on his little girl’s face as she looked from him, to Essätha.

And Essätha’s face was a muddled mix of grief and alarm.

Oh Pelor, no. He didn’t mean to. He didn’t mean it. ‘Sibby was not Marie. Marie was not Hepsiba. It was as obvious as the sky and sea, they were not one in the same. It was a lapse; like how parents tripped over their children’s names and mistakenly called one by another. But this was worse. So much worse, and he knew it.

Marie was dead. He couldn’t hold her anymore. He couldn’t protect her, like he once promised. He didn’t have the opportunity anymore to see who she’d become; what she would do with her life. If she’d marry and leave the estate to live in town or leave. Would she write letters, or would she stay close.

The slip of the tongue dried his mouth to ash, and choked him. Pelor don’t let her believe he thought of her as a replacement. Don’t let her think he looked at her, and saw his Marie. She was beautiful, and brilliant, but she was her own brand of Hepsiba. They were not the same. He didn’t see them that way, he could swear it.

He loathed himself. If he wasn’t frozen with revulsion and shock of himself, he might have uprooted himself to leave and lock himself in his studies. How could he call his sweet little ‘Sibby Marie. He loved them both in equal measure; he would do anything for them both if only he could, but she was not Marie. She would never be Marie he would never, never dream of comparing the two, as if his heart was so cruel, so vile as to morph the things he loved into the same hues of color, as though his daughter was not allowed to be her own person.

He didn’t mean it. It was an accident. He knew they were different he knew they were different people; he hadn’t meant anything by it it was just a mistake. By Pelor’s Light it felt like someone had carved into him like a hatched. His body broke out inn a cold sweat, his pulse running wild, a roaring in the back of his ears and a numbness making him feel clammy and stiff.

Devoured by panic, his field tunnel-visioned. He couldn’t see a damn thing straight in front of his face, and was startled by the small hand that grabbed his white-knuckled fist sitting atop his knee.

Hepsiba beamed up at him radiantly. With calm and acceptance that easily surpassed some of the wisest adults he’d ever known, she murmured: “It’s okay, daddy. I love you, and I forgive you.”

Numb with amazement, Amon stared with a rigid posture as this saintly child flung herself into his lap. Her little arms clung to him with all the might her tiny muscles could muster as she buried her face into his abdomen.

A lump rose in his throat. He swallowed, trying to force it back down. Another arm joined in; sliding against his back and resting against his opposite shoulder as Essätha moved closer. In her expression she still appeared distressed in her eyes, but there was a fire of support to keep much of it pushed back. Her soft lips pressed to his cheek, and he could smell her rose-infused lotion on her skin.

“It was an honest mistake, m’lord,” Essie reassured quietly.

Yes. An honest mistake is exactly what it was. But it made him feel no less guilty and ashamed.

They might be able to forgive him, but he wasn’t sure he could forgive himself.

A muffled wailing from the other room caused him to jolt; his body poised like a tightly wound spring. The nobleman turned his haunted eyes towards the door, aware of the gentle caressing hand leaving his shoulders chilled.

“It must be feeding time,” she murmured softly.

Giving him his arm a final rub, the Lady Illiad offered him an encouraging smile before rising up from the cushions. She moved swiftly around the short table towards their bedroom, where Isabelle’s crying was coming from with slowly increased volume.

The nightmare of his words circled back to him. Moving his gaze around the room, Amon was finally left to settle it upon the regard looking upon him. He shuddered, shouldering the impulse to turn his disgraced face away. He had no right to the love and delightful marvels of such a pure babyish face. He didn’t deserve the way she looked at him, admiring and full of respect and belief.

‘Sibby grinned at him, oblivious to his turmoil as she shyly requested, “Could you read me some more of Alice in Wonderland tonight, daddy?”

With a choked sigh, he finally managed to respond in a gravely voice: “Hepsiba, I am sorry.”

She blinked rapidly, her smile fading.

“I forgive you.”

“No, ‘Sibby I-… I want you to know, that I love you, just the way that you are. Exactly as you are. Being yourself. I wouldn’t want you to be anyone else, okay? I misspoke. I would never compare you to another; I would never try to make you someone you were not, or suggest that you were, or fit you into a shape of somebody else.”

“That’s okay,” Hepsiba replied, chipper as ever. She glanced around, as though making sure no one was listening while whispering low, “I called Amelie auntie Josephine, once.”

“Did you?” he murmured faintly, only partially aware.

She forgave him… just like that? At first he wasn’t sure she understood; that maybe she was offering him a sympathetic apology because he was upset. But this was a surprise, and one that he was grateful for, even if she might not fully understand the weight in his error.

Bobbing her head up and down, his little girl continued in a rushed whisper: “Amelie was making me snack, and she was taking the crusts off my sandwich like I like it, and I said ‘thank you auntie Josie’ without thinking. I was upset and scared she might be mad at me, but she wasn’t! She pat my head and we laughed and I had my snack at the table. It was good but she didn’t put as much cheese on it as mommy does which is better.”

Amon looked into the watchful gaze studying him. Her excitement about her tale began to dwindle the more the seconds ticked by. It evaporated from Hepsiba’s complexion, which became awash with fear and concern noticing his unreleased tension.

He exaggerated his sigh, and beamed joyfully down at his little blessing. Calm as a spring breeze, gentle as a flower, bright as the sun. Things like luck, chance, flukes- they were all words for the fortunate but the Illiad heir felt like he had been granted those things. He was a decent man. He tried his best; covered his debts, tried to show reason and mercy but even still, he didn’t deserve all of this.

Essätha’s love and devotion, which was a rhythm to his heart, warmth in his soul, air filling his lungs, fulfilled him. It fueled so many dreams and desires he chased. He learned again what it felt like to hope and to live. Life was perfect, as perfect as it could be, and he couldn’t imagine a way to make it more vivid and amazing.

Now he had the tireless love from his beautiful children. His firstborn little girl, so close to being the spitting image of her mother, and their baby Isabelle. And they never doubted his intentions. They only saw the good in him; the role model, the man who put them first.

He finally cleared his throat, and tried to keep the hoarseness of thick emotion out of his tone as he responded gently, “I promise not to tell Amelie you like mommy’s sandwiches better.”

In an instant, Hepsiba was grinning wildly once more. He passed her a wink as a sign of his good word, and she giggled endlessly with harmonious rapture.

“Can you pretty please read me another chapter of Alice tonight then?”

“Sure, ‘Sibby. I’d love to.”

“Great!” she huffed with excitement, letting go of him. “The book’s in my room. I’ll go get it!”

With eager laughter, his little girl spun around and dashed past the couch. She realized the error in her ways as he narrowed his eyes while tracking her, smirking slightly. She moved to tiptoe gracefully instead, passing him an apologetic glimpse as she hurried for the door.

Hepsiba was barely out the door when footsteps had him turning towards the bedroom door. A smile curled Essie’s lips as their eyes met. In her arms, the swaddled figure of their youngest lay nested in her arms. They were nuzzled against her bosom, latched on in a drowsy feeding in the loose-fitting peasant blouse. She hummed quietly for their little Belle, moving her in a gentle bouncing motion while moving around table to take a seat slowly beside him again.

Pelor, she was utterly stunning. He scooted his rear across the sofa to move closer to her, where the heat of her autumn skin called to him. He breathed her in as well as the smell of powder and baby, while curling an arm to her waist.

She gave a husky, tired laugh as he nuzzled his nose just beneath her ear, whispering as though a faint afterthought, “Is it everything you thought it’d be?”

“No,” he admitted. A flicker of hurt and worry began to outline her features as he reached to cup her chin, urging her closer as he uttered low, “It’s better.”

Her relieved sigh exhaled against him as he brushed a feather-light kiss to her mouth. Holding Isabelle with one arm, she reached across for him. Her thumb caressed the side of his face as, against laugh lines and up to the long strands of hair falling over his temples as he claimed the refuge that was the heaven in her soft and welcoming lips tenderly.

The excitement of astonishingly loud footsteps for someone so small came bouncing back into the room, followed by a roll of giggles. Amon barely managed to pull himself away to see the rosy color burning in her cheeks before a book was thrust in his direction, with pleading eyes and a pouty lip wobbling up at him hopefully.

Chuckling, he accepted the offered book from Hepsiba as she squeezed herself like a wedge between the two of them; making herself at home partly on both of their laps.

He grinned, his heart cascading and overfull with love as he pecked each of his beautiful girls on the head.

Cracking the novel open where the fabric bookmark last left off, Amon cleared his throat to prepare for storytelling. ‘Sibby huddled close, craning her head to look at the pages of the book as Essie rested her head to his shoulder, sighing with completion.

Better was an understatement.

This was paradise.

#eci artz #Essie rw #amon illiad #essamon ship

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darveyfics · 7 years

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Someone asked for pumpkin carving with a twist, I added two kids and a vacation, it got too long and now it’s in chapters

Chapter 1

Red, Orange and Yellow

“It's an outrage!” Her high-pitched voice bounces off every piece of glass in the bathroom.

“Lydia, they're leather, it goes with anything,” Donna tells her daughter, edging on impatience.

They've been at this for some ten minutes, her sitting on the edge of the tub and Lydia standing between her knees as she lotions, powders and dresses her, arguing all the while.

“My coat is pink, my outfit is lilac, the shoes have to match the coat,” Lydia explains looking at her mother dead in the eye with utter seriousness “Don't they, Edith?”

“They really do, Aunt Donna,” The other little girl agrees, leaning over the bathroom counter while clumsily applying strawberry chapstick.

Rachel laughs at her daughter from her own makeup station “Honey, don't contradict your aunt.”

“I'm sorry momma,” Edith complies “But it's important to look your best, always.”

“That's what I'm saying!” Lydia pipes up.

Rachel laughs again and Donna rubs her temples trying to keep cool.

“I only brought you this coat and these boots,” She tries to reason “You’ll be cold if you don’t wear either one.”

“But the pictures!” Lydia exclaims, throwing her arms up exasperatedly.

Donna sighs deeply, letting her head drop, eyes closed and breathing slow and calculated, doing her best not to snap as she promised herself she would never, summoning all the awful childhood memories of her mother’s hysterics to remember the importance of keeping cool. It’s getting increasingly harder not to however; when Lydia is too much like both of them, argumentative and relentless, too smart for her own good and worse, theirs.

“I’m getting your dad,” Donna tells the little blonde girl, cradling her face between both her hands and finding those hazel eyes she never thought much of when they were just hers. Now she notices the sparse golden freckles and the strings of green and a brightness that is entirely Lydia’s and her frustration ebbs away almost completely, “I love you baby, but you’re too stubborn” she says, tired but lovingly.

“That’s what you and daddy always say to each other.”

Donna and Rachel snort laughs at the exact same time, “She’s paying attention,” Rachel remarks good-naturedly.

“Are you girls almost ready?” Mike chimes in from just outside the half open door.

Rachel leans back to look at him, holding her bumb to keep balance, and smiles, “We’re having a slight complication,” she answers, “Lydia has objections to her outfit; she called it an ‘outrage’”

“Does she know what that means?” He asks, bemused.

“I’m right here Uncle Mike” Lydia chastises, placing her hands on her hips authoritatively.

Mike peeks around the door to look at his goddaughter, “Aren’t you just five?”

“And a half” She corrects proudly, “Aren’t you too old to make fun of little kids?”

Donna and Rachel double over laughing, Mike engages in a staring contest with Lydia until she shows him the tongue while her mother is distracted.

“Are you sure she’s Harvey’s and not some demon shadow baby like in Game of Thrones? You have the red hair and I was never 100% convinced you’re not a witch”

“If I was a witch I’d definitely turn you into a frog for that” Donna bites back.

“It’s okay papa, I’ll protect you” Edith reassures him, done applying a tinge of perfume and a whole lot of blush that Rachel immediately begins to wipe off.

Mike just sighs, “Thank you princess” he says, defeated and wondering how he got to this point, “But you can save your strength for your baby brother or sister, I’m sure they’ll need protection from your witch cousin.”

“Careful, her powers peak on Halloween,” Donna warns him while Lydia glares vindictively and Rachel offers a sympathetic glance.

He decides to drop it and they all continue to go about their business. Rachel throws away the pinked baby wipe and explains to Edith that makeup is for older girls and that she’s just as beautiful without it while Mike agrees with a long complimentary rant. Donna gives up on the boots issue and moves onto brushing Lydia’s hair, smiling and allowing her fingers to linger on the soft golden curls; selfishly half-wishing they were red.

Their peace is only disturbed when Harvey’s voice drifts up from the first floor calling for Mike.

“Tell him to come up please?” Donna requests, clipping butterfly pins on Lydia’s hair.

“I’ll think about it,” Mike says, stepping out with a grin.

Donna rolls her eyes “Think carefully and remember I handle the payroll,” She shouts after him.

They hear him trot down the stairs and call for Harvey, losing interest once he’s out of earshot.

“Momma, can you braid my hair?” Edith says, widening her big blue eyes pleadingly.

“Sure, babe, pull up the stool” Rachel agrees, finishing up her eyeliner and flexing her fingers in preparation.

“Can you braid my hair aunt Rachel?” Lydia questions, lighting up, and Donna snorts, just done arranging her curls.

“You have no mercy for me,” She says, pulling her daughter’s chin so their twin eyes meet “I can braid hair, you know?”

“You can?” She asks, disbelieving.

Rachel laughs and Donna covers her eyes with a hand, sighing.

“Lydia, you must be the only person who thinks your mother can’t do everything.”

“Nobody can do everything,” The girl argues.

“True, but your momma comes close to it,” Rachel says, starting to pull and tangle Edith’s thick dark hair “She’s a badass.”

Donna opens her mouth to agree but Harvey beats her to it, “She really is,” he says, showing up at the door and flashing her a wink, “I was summoned?”

Donna smiles, struck again by the silliness of feeling so in love after seven years, especially when he returns the gesture and warmth spreads in waves from her heart and belly.

“She can’t leave the house unless her boots match her coat,” She explains, “Apparently that’s an ‘outrage’”

Harvey narrows his eyes, turning to his daughter “What will this take, Lydia?”

“Nonnegotiable” Lydia declares, crossing her arms and stomping a foot.

“I don’t like that baseline” He tells her, crouching to her level and holding her hips to pull her focus to him “What did I explain about deals?”

Lydia bites her lip and looks up, trying to remember. He allows her the time, and Donna watches him stare at those hazel eyes that melted her earlier; he softens, even more helpless than she is when it comes to this beautiful, clever, extraordinary, little girl.

“If you don't know, you can say it baby,” Donna reassures.

Lydia tilts her head back to look at her and Donna pecks a wet kiss onto her forehead before she can escape. Lydia scrunches her face, wiping off the spot with the back of her hand and glares at her father for laughing, “That's gross”

“You've faced worse parts of my body” Donna jokes. Harvey laughs harder and Lydia just looks between the two of them, confused.

“What's that supposed to mean?” She asks, hands on her waist.

“Nothing. Your dad asked you a question, do you have the answer?” Donna says quickly, poking her nose and pointing at Harvey.

“I don't remember,” Lydia admits, “But if I don't get matching boots I'm going to scream.”

“I wonder if we've spoiled her,” Donna muses sarcastically.

“I told you it's important to pick your battles, do you remember what that means?” Harvey asks. Lydia nods, agreeing “Good. So, this is the only outfit we brought, you'll either wear it or stay home” He says, patiently.

“I don't want to stay!” She whines, crossing her arms and pouting.

“And we don't want you to stay, but you'll have to if you don’t ease up, honey” Harvey says, brushing the back of a finger over her pink cheek, “Are boots really more important than having fun with your family? Is that a battle you want to pick?”

Lydia bites her lip, thinking hard about the situation, looking back and forth between her parents and then sighing, “Fine, but I really wanted to match.” She says, disappointed.

“We will keep that in mind next time we are packing for you, we promise” Harvey says, smiling at her “And you look beautiful either way” he adds for good measure.

“You know,” Edith chimes in, hopping off the stool while running her hands over her new french braid, “You could wear pink socks peeking out over the boots, it will look cool!”

All the adults groan.

“Why didn't you say that sooner?” Rachel asks her child, dumbstruck.

“Nobody asked,” She answers simply “I have a pink one with cat ears you can borrow Lydia.”

“They'll match my kitten gloves!” Lydia says excitedly, pushing past her father and following her cousin out the door with chirpy steps, oblivious to the gobsmacked adults they've left behind.

Rachel, Donna and Harvey look at each other in silence for a couple seconds, not sure what's just transpired.

“We're fools,” Donna declares, finally.

“I just-” Rachel starts and stops, lacking the words to express how whipped they all are.

“I'm… gonna go” Harvey says. He stands and moves to the door, stopping as he's about to cross the threshold, “But for the record, that was still great parenting.”

#darvey #suits usa #suits #darvey fic #donna x harvey #red orange and yellow #author: maria #rated k

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