Liam

As the fourth of eleven boys, Liam had never felt that he needed more siblings, but the King of High Country was not a man who cared what any of his children desired. He did know that his mother was weary and ill and did not need another squalling infant to care for, but the King of High Country was not a man who cared what his wife desired, either. At least, that was how Liam saw it. Their eldest brother, George, knew something, but George was 15, and apparently that was enough for him to be finally considered a man, while 10-year-old Liam and his younger brothers were still, as his father said, "worthless brats of the lowest order," and "all a man could expect having married a peasant with nothing but beauty to recommend her."

He remembered George's face when they had caught their father saying that to a servant, while they awaited him outside the door of his study. He remembered because George had looked right at him, shaken his head and told him, "He doesn't mean that. It's a grown-up thing."

"What is?" He'd asked.

George's face had been grimly set, as he'd ushered Liam and their 9-year-old brother Christopher away from the door. "Not saying what they mean. He loves us, and mom. You'll understand when you're older."

But Liam didn't understand, and he understood least of all when sitting in a corner of his mother's room, listening to her sew on the balcony in the early hours of the morning, before the sun had even begun to rise. There was no light to indicate that she had lit a candle for herself, so it was a wonder that she was sewing at all, but he had peeked his head around the corner here and there and seen her, sewing by the dim, cold light of the moon. He didn't know what she was sewing, and he didn't think she knew either, as even with full light he was certain it would be hard to see through the tears steadily dripping down her nose and onto the piece of cloth she was holding above her swollen belly, the sound of her unbridled sobs filling his ears and his heart. He'd come to show her a night-blooming flower he'd found peeking out through the snow of the garden under his own balcony, and hadn't expected to catch her fully awake and crying.

A hiss of pain had him popping his head around the corner again to look at her, and he saw that she was staring at the railing of her balcony, her finger stuck in her mouth from where she'd pricked it. His first thought was that father would never have let her stick her finger in her mouth, but then he saw what she was looking at. At first, he had thought it was part of the moon, but a small glowing person was standing there. It seemed to look straight at him, so he ducked again behind the wall, but strained his ears to listen to their conversation.

"Who are you?" He heard his mother say, voice a little shaky, but clearly scrambling to regain her composure.

The voice that answered back was soft and melodic, but somehow also clear enough for him to hear. "Why, I'm a fairy, of course."

There was a moment's silence, and when she spoke again, the queen's voice was much calmer, much calmer than Liam felt. A real fairy. What did it want? "And why are you here, fairy?"

The fairy's response was cryptic at best, "It sounded like you might need me. Why are you crying, Queen Elena?"

"I- Well, what does it matter?" She snapped back, taking a deep breath in.

"I only want to help." The fairy responded soothingly. "I am the fairy of this castle, you know. The fairy godmother of all your children."

His mother made a coughing sound that Harry had once said was her "bad word sound," but spoke politely, "The fairy of this castle? Is that why the king has been blessed with so many sons?" She sounded tired, but there was something else in her voice, too, something Liam didn't understand.

"No, my dear." The fairy said, kindly. "I'm afraid that was all thanks to the two of you. Magic is powerful, yes, but with humans we find, it always comes with a hefty price, and is best used in moderation. But is that what is upsetting you? Having another son?"

His mother laughed a bitter, watery laugh. "No, they are all good boys. I'm just- this is not the life I wanted." She admitted. "This cold palace and that terrible man. When Johannes brought me here, I thought it would be good for my family, for the people of my village. I haven't had word from any of them in years. I used to dream," she said wistfully, "that I'd marry my childhood sweetheart from the village, and have two children, one boy and one girl. The boy would take after his father," and here she laughed, for every one of them had taken after their father indeed, with their light brown hair, warm skin, and bright eyes, "and the girl would take after me." Liam had never heard his mother talk this long, but it seemed she could not stop, once given the chance to describe the life she had lost, the hometown she'd always refused to tell them about. "She'd have the pale skin and black hair my own mother brought with her from the North, dark red lips like blood against snow. Some small piece of home. Sometimes I wish I'd never gotten on that boat, never had to live this life at all."

It seemed she had finished, and at last the fairy spoke, "I'm afraid there is no magic that can turn back the time or bring back the dead, but if it would bring you some comfort, I could show you an image of the village you left behind. I could even make sure the child in your belly grows to be a girl, just as you described."

His mother seemed startled, though not pleased. "You could do such things?"

"It would be quite the simple matter to show you your old village, though if you wished for a girl, I'm afraid something terrible would likely happen to your sons in exchange."

His mother's response was prompt, "Thank you kindly, fairy, but I must decline. I'm afraid I wouldn't recognize my village now, and I am not foolish enough to trade anything for the well-being of my sons."

"Very well." The fairy said, conceding graciously. "I had only wished to grant you a blessing, for you have been a kind queen to this nation, for the hard lot you have been given, and with your health waning, this child will likely be your last."

Liam started in his hiding place, and dared to sneak a look at the two of them again, but from his mother's expression this was no surprise, she just shook her head sadly and said a quiet word he could not hear. He stayed where he was, unmoving, as his mother sighed heavily, took up her embroidery and crawled back into bed, and only when her breathing had slowed in the steady rhythms of the little uneasy sleep she would get, did he slip from her room quietly, rushing through the cold stone halls in his bare feet until he made it to his own.

He sat there in the dark of his own room lost for words for a moment, then he thought to try something, something perhaps absolutely crazy. "Fairy godmother?" He called into the air, hesitantly. At first nothing happened, and he thought that it had been a foolish idea, but he turned to go back to bed and found the little fairy standing on his bed. He hadn't been able to look closely before, and only now saw that the fairy was a very small, very beautiful little person with slightly pointed ears and slender limbs, a motherly expression on its face. Gleaming, insect-like wings sprung from its back, currently folded down. He jumped. "Fairy… godmother?" He asked again, this time with more incredulity than hope.

She laughed a quiet, tinkling laugh, "Yes, that's me, Prince Liam. Do you need something?"

"Oh. Uhm. Well- Well, I-." He wasn't supposed to eavesdrop, how was he supposed to know what to say? "I didn't- I'm sorry I didn't mean to eavesdrop." He said, wrinkling his face up uncertainly.

"That's quite alright, young prince. I saw you hiding there."

"Oh. Well then, can I- ask you something?" He said, hesitantly.

She laughed again, not unkindly, "You certainly may."

It was not manly to cry, but Liam found the tears making their way down his face anyways. "Is- Is mother really going to die?"

"We fairies do not see the future, little prince, but with her health as it is… it is likely." The fairy answered without hesitation. A small sprig of gratitude planted itself in Liam's heart, that this tiny creature did not quibble with words, trying to keep from him the horrible truth he felt he had the right to know. The doctors and his father and his mother, even George, had never given a straight answer, perhaps because they had thought the truth would be too much, and he had not known how much he had needed precisely that truth, as large and heavy as it was, until it was finally granted to him.

He rubbed his face with his sleeve, and still sniffling loudly, asked, "Can't you fix her? You have magic."

"It is her time, my dear. If I were to use magic to cure her at this stage, another would have to lose their life in exchange."

"Then-" He said, still hiccupping tears, "Then, I want you to give her a girl. Just like she always wanted. I don't- I don't care what happens to me. She should have just one thing she wanted in her life. Please." He felt a small hand press against his forehead, and lifted his arm from his face to see the fairy looking at him, smiling in a way that was almost sad.

"I think she already had eleven things she wanted in her life, my prince. But if you insist, perhaps she does deserve one more." And when he closed his eyes to squeeze out another little fall of tears, the fairy was gone.