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angstymarshmallow · 6 years

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“The Jester” (Part 4 of Fantasy AU, a TRR Fanfic)

[A little note: A half-rushed but fully excited sequel to my fantasy au series. I’m still working out some of the kinks in my story, but I do think its going in the right direction with a couple moving pieces in place. Here’s part 4 - specifically focusing on Maxwell’s Beaumont’s role in this adventure, Let me know what you think, it keeps me motivated knowing people like this sort of unorthodox fic series :’)].

[Summary: Maxwell Beaumont is many things, but the one thing he isn’t is happy with living in the shadows formed from past mistakes from the Beaumont lineage].

[Word Count: 4342]

Tagging: @nerdpossible, @mfackenthal

Part 1: “The Beginning” Part 2: “The Adventurer” Part 3: “The Knight”

Maxwell Beaumont ignored the sounds of his older brother barking incessant orders for him to hurry as he slammed the mop obnoxiously across the floor.

Ever since they had ridden themselves of servants to save their finances, Bertrand’s prattling went from intrusive to nearly downright unbearable.

The nobleman thought their circumstances would have changed after a few weeks of tackling old debts and selling whatever antiques they could to keep themselves afloat and the greedy tax payers at bay, however his hopes of returning House Beaumont to its former unapologetically expensive lifestyle, were severely dashed when his brother begun calling off their monthly soirees.

Instead the Beaumont name continued to tarnish with the decline of their wealth, and their own family lineage’s hidden curse made it nearly impossible for them to completely fit in, despite how hard the elder Beaumont brother tried. Their once heavily decorated halls shrivelled in comparison to the past with and only each other for company; dull memories of a much grander time when they wined and dined begun to fade.

Now they did all the work; beginning with Bertrand’s cooking, Maxwell keeping their home spotless and ended with Bertrand managing the bookkeeping.

It was, Maxwell decided – most difficult to stay inside such a home that had become so exceedingly boring.

When Bertrand gave him another terse order, Maxwell’s own patience waned. Nearly at its end, he snapped his head up to glare at his brother – the older of the two’s forehead crinkling enough to show the wear and tear of being in charge of House Beaumont, and his nearly angular face tilted at him as though daring the younger one to speak.

Maxwell held his tongue. He bit on the inside of his cheek before giving the usual off-beat smile that often placated any budding tension between each other. “I’ll be done before you know it brother.” He amiably said, forcing a note of cheerfulness inside his tone. Besides, it was what he had always excelled in; his aloofness and guile manner was a force of radiating happiness in almost everyone else’s eyes.

He could live with that truth, even though half the time it felt like a lie.

Nevertheless, he polished the floor until he could see himself clearly. He dusted every hall, nearly tripping once or twice over his own two feet. He wiped every window; paying special attention to the tiny spots of cracks and when he was finally done – he skipped happily along the hall to inform Bertrand of the news.

The house was clean and with no other chores, Maxwell wanted to escape as soon as possible. He hoped The Accords discussed interesting matters that Liam would be willing to share by the time he was ready to leave and visit his friend.

Maxwell was several feet away from his brother’s study when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Familiar feelings of apprehension filled him and made him shudder. It was a regular occurrence when it came to his own gift of sight, but unusual after weeks without anything. Flabbergasted for a moment, he stood still and waited for clarity – images, something to flare into inside his mind but when nothing came, he forced himself forward.

He approached Bertrand’s study with timid steps, until he could decipher the deep baritone of his voice. He froze for a moment and wondered why his brother was speaking so softly – as though he did not wish to be heard.

Maxwell’s body grew tense; shoulders stiffening as the apprehension he felt moments ago returned tenfold and his stomach filled with a sense of anxiety. His intuition was telling him something. It was imploring that something was wrong – and Maxwell rarely ignored his gut.

The study’s entrance door was closed.

Finding it odd at this time of the evening, Maxwell slid is mouth open to speak but thought better of it at the last second. He inched closer instead.

Wanting to know what his brother was saying, he pressed his ear by the door and listened keenly.

Truthfully, Maxwell didn’t know what to expect but whatever it was that Bertrand had decided was too important to mention – he would uncover it. He nodded to himself, resolute in his decision to meddle within his brother’s affairs despite the countless of times he had been discouraged not to.

At first, Maxwell wasn’t able to hear much of anything. And as he slanted his eyes closed, slowed the erratic beat of his heart, he could finally make out enough words to put several together.

“…pushed….too far…”

“….no…..was supposed to…”

“…this plan…wrong…”

Startled, Maxwell leaned closer, bracing his hands on either side of the door. He had no idea what Bertrand was talking about but based on the urgency in his voice, and the little he could understand – it couldn’t have been anything good.

Maxwell hoped if he only pushed just a little father – just a little more, he would be able to hear more – maybe even full sentences to help solve this quiet mystery that was beginning to befuddle him. However, the moment he did, the door creaked on its hinges and he accidentally shoved his shoulder too har, causing it to make another obnoxious creak before flying wide open.

“Ooof.”

His body followed, tipping him forward until he was only able to let out a strangled gasp until falling flat on his face.

“Oh heavens!” He dramatically rolled to his side, clutching his stomach and bracing a hand over his forehead; hoping it would diffuse some of the flare of anger in his brother’s eyes when he met his stare.

“Maxwell!”

No such luck.

Bertrand’s voice sounded outraged at the interruption.

Maxwell couldn’t understand why. He was after all – trying to be decisively quiet until the door had given out. If anything Bertrand should be mad at the door for being incapable of doing its only function. “We should really get better doors Bertrand,” He grumbled, as he got to his feet. “I was testing its structural capabilities – and it failed tremendously.”

Bertrand didn’t as much as crack a smile.

Maxwell’s shoulders slumped. He mumbled a stiff apology as his eyes flickered over. The words caught in his throat, and his eyes froze as curiosity quickly replaced the fear of incurring his brother’s wrath.

Inside Bertand’s hands was a crystal paler than any Maxwell had ever seen. It was bigger too – nearly the size of his hand cupping it. It glowed momentarily and Maxwell blinked hoping it was a trick of light until it went completely dim.

“What sort of rock glows like that?” He pointed for emphasis until his brother quickly the oddly-shaped crystal stone inside his pocket.

“Nothing,” Bertrand snapped; lips forming a scowl. “Nothing to worry yourself with anyway. It is for work.” His stare shifted, “besides – why are you here? I’ve told you a hundred times, I strongly prefer not to be interrupted while I’m inside my study.” His dark eyes glinted with a hard edge as he waited for an explanation.

Not knowing how to respond, Maxwell shrugged for a moment; loosely lifting his shoulders while his mind was still stubbornly stuck on the crystal, now hiding inside his pocket.

“Maxwell.” His brother’s voice was dark and biting; until Maxwell forced himself to tear his gaze away.

“Sorry.” He murmured, “I was just letting you know I was finished that’s all.” No need to be so angry at me. He added more to himself than aloud. He wouldn’t dream of saying that aloud.

“Ah, very good.” Bertrand straightened himself upright and tucked his hands behind his back.

Silence suddenly filled the room, thick tension of two people that barely knew each other anymore. With Bertrand always working tirelessly on the estate and Maxwell wanderings across Cordonia – the two had never been as loyal and as estranged to each other all at once before.

The thought made Maxwell sad, but he didn’t know how to repair what was once between them. Bertrand would always be his brother – but there was no denying that their relationship hadn’t been the same since their accumulative debt finally caught up with them.

Bertrand cleared his throat, bringing Maxwell from his sullen thoughts. “Ah, perhaps we should prepare supper now.” He added a small smile.

Maxwell returned it, his spirits lifting immediately at the sight of his brother smiling. It wasn’t often he did that anymore. “Does that mean I get to help this time?”

The smile faded. A small frown remained in its place. “I suppose it depends on what you mean by help.”

An exasperated sigh left Maxwell’s lips, “the small stuff.” He muttered glumly. “I can peel the potatoes…and clean the plates.”

Bertrand clapped him on the shoulder as they exited the study, “wonderful! I knew I could count on you.”

He laughed and agreed good-naturedly.

They walked the hall along each other, with only their voices filling the silence of a house that had once seen a great deal of people nearly every night. It felt lonely sometimes, but Maxwell knew as long as he had his brother – he would never truly be alone.

Supper was ready nearly two hours later – Maxwell’s forgetfulness had caused several delays to their food, but once they were both settled in front of their large wooden table – still elegantly dressed in royal embroideries, they were content to eat in silence.

Warmth and flavour filled Maxwell as his forked picked at the steam vegetables. He hummed in pleased delight that the food had faired as well as it did. “You should really look into running your own meadery,” he said between bites. “This is fantastic.”

“Please don’t speak with your mouth full of food,” Bertrand pointed his fork at him. “But thank you,” a brief smile flitted in place of his scowl. “I am flattered that you think I have grown to such a degree.”

Maxwell nodded emphatically, happy to see his brother pleased by his compliment. “Seriously, you would excel in it.”

“Enough,” He waved a dismissive hand, and the firmness in his one-worded answer made Maxwell realize this was no longer up for discussion. “My hands are tied enough as it is looking after our estate,” he rubbed his temple for a moment as though lost in thought.

“Bertrand,” Maxwell interrupted after some time. “Is that what this crystal is for?” He prompted, “the one you had in the study? Are you selling it for our finances –”

“No.” His answer had been so abrupt and harsh that Maxwell drew upright in his seat, startled.

“Bertrand –”

“I said no Maxwell.” He said crisply, eyes snapping at him. “Cease this line of questioning because it will get you no further.” He angrily stabbed his fork into the meat on his plate. “It will help us but we do not discuss such matters at the dinner table.”

“It’s not like you wanted to discuss it to be begin with.” Maxwell quipped tartly back at him.

The fork paused, and the look Bertrand gave him, had been enough for Maxwell to sink farther into his seat. “That crystal is never to be mentioned again.”

Maxwell made a face at his food.

“Do you understand, Maxwell?”

He didn’t understand. What was so special about the crystal that it had to be kept a secret? What was it about the blasted thing that he wouldn’t even tell his own brother? “But Bertrand –”

“Do you understand?” He cut in darkly, waiting for his answer.

Maxwell uttered a long-suffering sigh. “…..as you say, brother.”

“Good.” Bertrand released his own sigh of relief before bringing his attention back to his plate, dabbing at the corner of his lips as he gestured with his fork. “Now, what do you think of the chicken?”

When they cleared the table, Bertrand rushed to excuse himself from the room, and Maxwell knew by his abrasive demeanour that his brother did not want company inside his study.

He glanced miserably after him as he stalked angrily down the hall. It didn’t take much for him to realize, he was still very upset with him. He couldn’t fathom why – all he wanted was to learn about the strange item inside his back pocket, and his own intuition had been adamant that something was amiss, though everything appeared to be normal.

At least Prince Liam would give him a much warmer greeting than his own brother.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Maxwell fetched his coat; deciding it was high time for him to distract himself from such unpleasantness as this. He would drop by the palace and hope The Accords meeting was interesting enough for Liam to have something to share. He tucked his lucky bracelet through his breast pocket as he searched for his boots.

There was a small hole near the soles of his feet, and as he examined his left boot; his shoulders sagged. It was small enough to remain unnoticeable by most; however now that he knew it was there – he could never un-notice it. His boot was just another reminder of how far they had fallen from grace, their Beaumont legacy growing dimmer and duller with each passing day.

Feeling dejected and lonely, Maxwell pulled them onto his feet and tied their strings before stepping towards the entrance of the estate.

No sooner had he taken another step that he heard an abrupt knock on the door. It was terse, quiet. And he froze, brows furrowed together as he stared blankly at it.

“Bertrand, Bertrand there’s someone at the door!”

“Then answer it Maxwell.” Came the response, bellowing from the open door’s study.

Rolling his eyes, Maxwell clucked his tongue and opened the door with a flourish. He beamed at the familiar figure in front of him – until his eyes met the figure’s tired stare and noticed several bruises running among their tawny arms.

Drake? His smile faltered. And the grim expression on Drake’s face dictated that this was not a social call.

“Sir Drake!” Maxwell said pleasantly enough, as soon as he recovered from the untimely visit. “I was just on my way to the palace, to what do I owe this –” He stopped short as Drake struggled to pass through the entrance; bracing himself against the door’s frame until Maxwell looped his arm around him. “Drake, what’s –”

Drake muttered something under his breath as the shorter man caught and stopped him from stumbling on his feet. He winced as he hurriedly helped him inside and didn’t speak until he was seated by their comfortable furniture, resting his bare forearms near the edge of his seat.

Maxwell tried for patience as a thousand different questions raced inside his mind. Why was he here? Where did all those bruises come from? A feeling of trepidation filled him as he met the knight’s solemn expression with a grimace.

He was having trouble even staying still once he waited for him to speak first. But the most important question that plagued him had to be asked and eventually, he had given up for him to break the silence first. “Are you alright Drake?” He tentatively asked, eyes skimming over him with concern.

Drake’s lips thinned and instead of answering right away, he heaved a sigh. Then, Maxwell watched as the walls Drake had often placed around himself had rebuilt itself; starting with his shoulders lifting and the careful look inside his eyes as he stood on steady legs to beckon to him. “Is Bertrand around as well?”

Maxwell eyed the parchment with the royal seal inside Drake’s hands in mild fascination and horror. The royal seal on anything had never meant anything good, and Maxwell had a feeling whatever the document said wasn’t going to bode well for House Beaumont. “He’s in his study,” he huffed, gesturing with his free hand down the hall. “But I wouldn’t go in there – he’s had very deliberate instructions to not be disturbed once he’s inside his study.”

“I see.” Drake pursed his lips, “but unfortunately for you both, I don’t care.” He said curtly, “and the only thing I feel inclined to care about or even have any sympathy for doesn’t extend towards you or Bertrand.” His voice had grown impatient, on the cusp of irritation. His grip tightened on the piece of parchment inside his hands. “Now, the queen herself had commanded me to deliver this to you both and for the sake of time, I require Bertrand’s immediate attention.”

“I’m sorry, I already told you – he doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s in his study.” Maxwell’s own voice rose, uncharacteristically as Drake moved to fall into step with him the moment he stood.

“And I don’t like to be left waiting when I have more important things to do.”

“It is alright Maxwell,” A voice interrupted their bickering seconds before they both turned to find Bertrand leaning against a wall several feet away. His face was a somber mask as he watched Drake. “To what do I owe this pleasure Sir Drake?”

The knight handed him the parchment, wetting his lips as Bertrand’s eyes widened moments before he quickly unloosened its string. “It is probably better if you read the queen’s message for yourself.”

They both watched as a look of horror and pain flashed inside Bertrand’s eyes. “I see.”

If Maxwell hadn’t felt uneasy before – he did now. His stomach felt as though it was twisting with nerves, making it difficult for him to keep his mouth closed. “Bertrand – what does it say?”

“The Queen needs your services at once Maxwell.” He levelled him with a cautious stare as the younger Beaumont brother blinked several times; as if he had heard him wrong.

“My s-services?” He stammered. “But…it’s forbidden.” A lump suddenly formed in his throat and he shook his head at them. “I don’t understand, she has never approved.”

“It isn’t about approval,” Drake’s tone had grown in impatience again. His expression darkened with a sense that Maxwell could describe as only urgency. “It’s about doing whatever is necessary to recuse the prince.”

“Rescue the prince?” Maxwell echoed, grabbing the parchment out of his brother’s hand. “Let me see this!” He read it quickly and blinked several times, before reading it again. Oh no. His stomach dropped. It was worse than he thought.

Prince Liam had been kidnapped – whisked away from the kingdom by a bunch of radical mages. “Oh god, when did this happen?” He stared in horror at Drake and watched the man’s eyes break their careful mask for a moment long enough for him to see how truly devastated he was.

“This morning, during The Accords.” Drake sighed heavily, “we should have been more prepared. This shouldn’t have happened.”

“I’ll say.” Bertrand responded tersely. “You have all failed your utmost duty in protecting the crowned jewel of Cordonia.” He nearly spat, arms folding as he regarded Drake with a look of disdain. “If House Beaumont had been present –”

“I don’t think this is necessarily helping brother.” Maxwell interceded, giving his brother a pat on the back as he watched Drake’s shoulders stiffen. “What can we do?”

“Well as the letter said, they want you to try again. To see if you can find him.”

Maxwell bit the inside of his cheek, weighing his words and the implication Queen Regina left inside the letter. The Beaumont family’s reputation had been tarnished enough with their father’s own magical talents during the war. If Maxwell tapped into those abilities again…he was afraid of what that meant for their family in the future. “I cannot.”

“You have to.” Drake’s lips formed a frown. “Your queen commands you to.”

“He’s right. Despite the position it puts us in, we cannot ignore the Queen’s summons.” Bertrand gave his brother’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’m sure she’ll pardon any use of it on our behalf if we agree, but surely she must have mentioned the conditions we would work under.”

Drake’s lips quirked into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “She did mention compensations were in order.”

“All we want is to restore our family name.” Maxwell’s chin lifted stubbornly.

“Of course you do.” Drake murmured, lifting a sardonic brow.

From beside him Bertrand stiffened, and Maxwell’s own rare temper flared to life at Drake’s indifference to their circumstances. “You have no idea what it’s like being us. Being stepped on constantly, degraded for something that was outside your control, from birth –”

If Drake’s sudden laugh could be any more brittle and bitter, it would have shattered the windows inside their manor. Maxwell watched in alarm until the knight had shaken his head and sneered at them.

“The irony isn’t lost on me trust me, but it isn’t my place to say how foolish this all is.” Drake grunted, “I’m wasting precious time here instead of searching for the prince myself.”

“The nerve!” Bertrand interceded, pointing a finger at him which as far as Maxwell realized, Drake pointedly ignored. “You could at least address us with the proper respect of people from our stature.”

Drake continued speaking as though the older Beaumont hadn’t spoken. “But we are running out of options quickly and the queen had convinced me that this was the best alternative than me finding him on my own.”

“Well of course it is, you have no idea where to start.” Bertrand harrumphed.

“So, I trust this is enough.” Drake precured another parchment and Maxwell’s eyes widened as he read the queen’s crisp cursive over his brother’s shoulder. “My goodness, that is a lot of coin.”

“And not just coin Maxwell –” Bertand’s eyes sparkled with excitement as they drifted to him. “This a deed to restore our family’s name,”

“But,” Drake interrupted their premature celebrations by grabbing the parchment back and stuffing it inside his trousers. “This is a tentative offer that heavily relies on Maxwell’s help.” His eyes drifted over him, “if he can truly tell the future of course.”

“It isn’t,” Maxwell frowned. “It isn’t that simple –” magic had never been that simple.

“Of course, it is.” Bertrand clapped the back of his brother’s back, as though stopping him from saying anything else. “He will not disappoint, won’t you Maxwell?”

Drake still looked skeptical once Maxwell met his expression. He hesitated before nodding enthusiastically, “right of course.” The awful feeling inside his stomach was back, churning and making it difficult for him to keep a straight face as he cleared his throat. “Do you have something belonging to the prince?” He inquired, “it would make forming a connection easier.”

“Ah, right of course.” Hesitantly, Drake retrieved Prince Liam’s favourite ink, cupping it for a moment before dropping it into Maxwell’s waiting palm.

Nothing happened, not at first.

Despite Maxwell’s brows furrowing in concentration – no image had immediately come to life and as he gripped it tighter, Bertrand’s impatient glare made him want to sink into the floor. “Just a moment –” The longer he fixated on the ink, closing his eyes as his thumbs rubbed tiny circles across the pattern – the less he was able to hear the world around him; until his only awareness was the sound of his own heartbeat, slowing..

Then it happened.

A flash of images sprouted to life and grappled his mind so quickly that Maxwell had to clutch his temple. Pain flared and pulsed as images of the prince, Drake, himself and several others he had never met before blurred and mingled together.

A sharp cry escaped Maxwell’s throat as he tried to make sense of them in the flurry they erupted within his head.

He saw a raven-haired woman with wild curls and bright magic sparking from her fingertips. He saw another woman riding a blue scaled…dragon with her sword raised into an enemy of undead – he saw himself and Drake fighting back to back against hooded figures that felt as threatening as the moment Maxwell learned of his own lineage stripping away their rank in nobility.

And lastly he saw the prince – somewhere far away, past snowy mountain tops bound and gagged with a hooded figure standing in front of him. When he tried to push the pressure he felt inside his mind – he saw the hooded figure lift its cape, and his blood ran cold as their cool dark eyes seemed to bored through, as though they knew he was looking – searching for them. He saw their mouth move before he realized the telltale signs of casting and quickly retreated – hissing and clutching his head with bot hands as red-hot pain flooded his mind.

Ah. They had caught him.

Tremors racked his body as he struggled to stay on his feet.

“Maxwell!” Both Bertrand and Drake yelled, concern stretching their faces into frowns as Maxwell sagged against his brother.

It took several minutes for the pain to pass, and all the while Bertrand kept a comforting hand on his shoulder; mumbling soft words of encouragement while the pain had threatened to pull Maxwell under.

Drake was pacing uneasily across the room until Maxwell was able to sit upright inside the wooden furniture; his arms rubbing across the goosebumps that erupted across his flesh.

“Are you alright?” They both simultaneously asked, eyes flickering in concern.

Maxwell forced a smile, not quite knowing how to answer. Truthfully, the explanation was difficult to mull over – let alone tell someone else. As an oracle, he could see the past, present and the future; but with how quickly the images had assailed his mind – he had no idea what could become true versions of reality – and what wasn’t.

Yet one thing was for certain, he saw Prince Liam in the present – and the mage that had caught him spying on them – was one of the most dangerous people in the mage rebellion they were fighting against. Straightening his shoulders, Maxwell looked solemnly over his brother and the knight, tightening his hands until they were nearly stark white.

“I think I know how we’ll be able to find Prince Liam.”

#the royal romance #fantasy au series #playchoices fanfic #maxwell beaumont fanfic #maxwell beaumont #bertrand beaumont fanfic #playchoices fanficiton #drake walker fanficiton #drake walker #trr #playchoices #more plot things #pretty pls won't you leave feedback?#an angstymarshmallow writes #eventually the romance'll be here #just exploring the adventure side of things ;)#long post #adventure

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