The Things a Father Knows
Robert LaRoux was playing the violin alone when something tugged at his heart as his bow had tucked at the strings. His mind, immediately, jumped to his two daughters. Margot was with her mother, receiving instruction on what would, no doubt, be vitally important to her one day. Robert knew that the little girl must be bored out of her mind, but that was not what Robert was feeling. It must be his other daughter. It must be Elise.
Something must have been wrong.
Quickly and haphazardly, Robert cast his instrument aside, not even placing it back into its case. Instead, he bounded and ran through the chateau in what his wife, the Comtesse, would have surely described at undignified. Robert didn’t care. Instead, he rushed with all haste and abandon to his younger daughter’s nursery. As he approached the door, he could hear the baby wailing, and the exacerbated shushing of her nursemaid.
Robert flung open the door to find the scene he had expected. The young, pale infant was in her cradle, the nursemaid standing over her with a rattle trying to distract the baby into quiet. It clearly wasn’t working. The Comte, with a sympathetic expression, urged the nursemaid away and moved into his child’s view.
As he reached down to pick up the child, the nursemaid said, “With all respect, my lord, I can handle this. It is my job.”
“I know that,” Robert said softly, “but if you will indulge me, I would like to be with my daughter. And besides, while you are a wonderful nursemaid and I trust you to care for her,” he paused as he looked down into the tear-streaked pink eyes of Elise LaRoux, “there are some things that only a father knows.”
The nursemaid bowed in diference to the Comte and retreated from the room, closing the door behind her. Robert, for a long moment, simple held Elise to him as she cried. He then moved over to a nearby rocking chair and carefully sat down, rocking her. When that did not help, Robert LaRoux began to sing. He sang a low, soft song, a lullaby with no words. He simply wanted to be there for his daughter. He simply wanted her to hear his voice, to feel his warmth, and to know that she was loved.
After a short time, Elise stopped crying. The tiny angel closed her eyes, although Robert knew that she was not truly asleep. These are things that a father knows. But Robert LaRoux did not care whether his daughter slept or not; he cared that she was happy. And while the shape of the infant’s mouth could not strictly be called a smile, he knew that she was.
Robert did not know how long he sat there rocking his baby daughter, but eventually he began to feel quite cold. He was not sure why at first, and discovering the source was a slow realization for him. He finally looked up from his daughter’s tiny face to see that a heavy fog had rolled in. Suddenly fearful for his daughter’s health, he stood up and moved to close the window. He froze when he saw that the window, as always, was thoroughly closed.
Although he knew that the color of his skin was no match to Elise’s, the Comte felt himself grow very pale in that moment. The floor of the nursery was almost completely obscured in a gentle blanket of fog, and the happy, contented look on the baby’s face offered only one explanation. Robert LaRoux shuddered at the implication. At first he tried to deny it, to wonder at how many other possible explanations there could have been, but in the end, he knew. It was just one of those things that a father knows.
Elise LaRoux was a mage.
There was a pang of fear now as he looked down at his daughter. He did not fear her, but rather he feared for her. Elise’s mother, the Comtesse, had already turned her back on the child merely for her physical appearance: the paleness of the skin, the pink of her eyes. If the Comtesse ever found out that Elise was a mage, there might be nothing Robert could do to protect his daughter. And even if the Comtesse could be persuaded into acceptance, which Robert would have to subtly begin to try to do, the rest of the aristocracy might not.
The Comte held his infant child closer and whispered to her, trying for her sake to keep his voice steady. “Never be afraid of who you are, Angel. For as long as I live and as long as I’m able, I will protect you.”
Elise LaRoux finally fell asleep then, and the fog in her room slowly dissipated. Robert waited until there was no trace of it left before he even contemplated retrieving the nursemaid. Before he left, the Comte said a silent prayer to Goddess to watch over Elise. He prayed that this magical summoning, whatever it had been, would not happen in front of the servants, and especially not in front of the Comtesse.
But more than anything, Robert LaRoux prayed that Elise would never fear herself. He prayed that she would always know that she was loved.
* * *
Robert LaRoux and his youngest daughter Brigitte were playing violin. Well, Robert was playing the violin. Brigitte was still too young for the instrument, although she loved the sound to an almost obsessive degree. She would sit on the nearby cushioned seat – or, when there was little fear of the Comtesse entering the room suddenly, on the floor at Robert’s feet – and listen to him for hours. The Comte believed that she would sit there and listen to him play forever if she could. Her interest in his playing never once failed to outlast his own.
Suddenly, Robert stopped playing. Something caught in his memory for just a moment, some vague impression of living through the same scene before, but with different circumstances. The details of this half-remembered occurrence never did come to him, but he knew that something was pulling him away from his music. He brought the violin down to the rest position, and Brigitte looked up at him curiously.
“I think that’s enough for now,” Robert said to his daughter.
Brigitte groaned. “No, Papa! Please, just one more!”
It was very difficult to say no to the little girl, when he knew that she loved listening to his music so much, and when he so loved to play. But there was something else going on, something that was even more important.
“I’m sorry, Brigitte, but,” he paused, suddenly sure of something. “I think we need to go visit your sister now.”
The Comte set down his violin, helped Brigitte to her feet, and then led her to Elise’s room. The door, as usual, was shut, but from beneath it, Robert could feel just the hint of cold air. He knocked softly on the door, and heard a small gasp from the other side.
“Elise? It’s Papa,” the Comte said softly.
“And Brigitte!” Brigitte added excitedly.
“May we come in?” Robert continued.
There was some stammering from the other side of the door, in Elise’s small voice, that the Comte could not quite make out. He knew, though, that it was the sound of reluctance. The door, he noted, did not open. Robert then made a face, perhaps a bit over-exaggerated, and then knelt down in front of Brigitte.
“Brigitte, honey, I am sorry, but I meant to bring my violin and play for both of you. I hate to ask, but do you think you can go get it for me?”
Brigitte’s eyes widened and brightened. “Sure, Papa!”
She ran off, back down the stairs and toward the music room. Robert knew that her excitement would ensure that he did not have much time. He stood up again and knocked once more.
“Elise, I need you to open this door.” There was another sound from inside, and Robert could practically feel the panic of his middle daughter. It broke his heart. “Elise, please. I need you to trust me. You are not in any trouble, and I promise you, I will love you no matter what. I need you to open the door, and I promise, I will not yell at you. Please?”
The Comte bit his bottom lip as he waited, expecting with some degree of trepidation that Brigitte – or worse, one of the servants – would round the corner as he waited, but finally, he heard a click from the other side as the door was unlocked and opened just a crack. As Robert LaRoux had expected, he saw a wafting of fog escape through the opening.
As quickly as he could, Robert entered the room and closed the door. Elise was standing there, up to her ankles in mist, crying and looking everywhere but at her father. In an instant, Robert closed the distance between them, dropped to his knees, and wrapped Elise up in the biggest hug he could muster.
“I swear, Papa, I don’t know what happened! I was just sitting here, trying to hum along to the music I know you were playing, and…and…”
“It’s okay, Angel,” Robert said, hugging her tightly. “Everything is okay. Please, there is nothing to be afraid of.”
“But, Papa,” Elise managed. “I think…I think…I think I did this!”
She buried her head in his shoulder and sobbed loudly. Robert LaRoux held her close and stroked her white hair.
“Shhh,” Robert soothed. “It’s alright. You’re safe, the family is safe, and you are still and will always be my daughter.”
“But, if maman ever finds out that…”
Robert pulled her away from her, held her gently by her shoulders, and looked her straight in the eyes. “First, Elise, we will do everything we can to make sure that doesn’t happen. But second, and more importantly, never be afraid or ashamed of what you are. You are my daughter, Elise. You are my little Angel. Nothing, nothing, will ever stop me from loving you, no matter what. Do you hear me?”
Elise nodded pitifully, and Robert hugged her again.
“How did you know, Papa? How did you know that this was happening? How did you know that I needed you?”
Robert, sniffling a little now, too, just shook his head. “There are just some things a father knows.”
“I love you, Papa.”
“I love you too, Elise.” He hugged her for a moment longer, then pulled her away again. “Now, let’s dry your eyes and see if we can get this room clear before Brigitte gets back. She’ll always love you, too, and you can trust her completely, but she might be just a bit too young to understand yet, okay?”
Brigitte nodded, and the fog was already beginning to clear before her tears had finished drying.
* * *
Robert LaRoux wasn’t feeling well. In fact, he hadn’t been feeling quite himself for the past few weeks. It was nothing he could quite identify, no symptoms of any lingering illness that he could describe to the doctors in Mont-sur-Mer. It was just a persistent feeling that something was off. Perhaps there was a chill in the air that did not usually bother him, or perhaps something he had eaten was not agreeing with him, but something felt strange.
Outwardly, the Comte gave no indication. There was no sense in worrying the others in the family. Whatever the problem is, it would be solved soon enough and that would be the end of it. Still, though ever the optimist, Robert LaRoux in his worst moments found himself thinking toward the future and casting it in a darker hue than he ever had before. He imagined futures of wars, and broken families, and scattered loved ones.
In many glimpses of these dreary futures, Robert LaRoux did not envision himself.
And that was why, on a day when the Comtesse was hearing grievances from the townsfolk, Margot was taking Brigitte riding, and Elise was sorting invitations for Margot, Robert LaRoux went walking in Mont-sur-Mer. The Comte had always had an atypical relationship with the populace of the town. The town feared and respected the Comtesse, Robert’s wife, very greatly. They loved Margot as one might love a story, or a book written locally but appreciated throughout the land. They knew of Elise and Brigitte mostly by name, and by whatever strange rumors passed through the streets about the pale noblewoman.
But Robert LaRoux, to the people of Mont-sur-Mer, was like one of their own.
Everybody knew, of course, that Robert was an aristocrat. There was no hiding it, and Robert would have never tried. But the Comte was an entirely different sort of person than any nobleman the townspeople had ever heard of, let alone seen with their own eyes. When a noblewoman and a peasant passed one another on a street in Foraine, there was a simple, well-engrained etiquette to it: The peasant averted her eyes, and the noblewoman elevated her nose. That was simply the way of things.
But Robert LaRoux was different. When a peasant crossed his path, he smiled widely and gave a cheerful greeting. For his first year as Comte of Mont-sur-Mer, most of the townsfolk had thought he was mocking them, until one day when he was walking alone in town in winter, and an old man slipped on ice and fell. The Comte rushed over to help, and slipped as well. There had been silence in the streets as the peasants feared reprisal, but the Comte had laughed at his own folly, climbed back to his feet, and continued to help up the old man.
From that day forward, people stopped thinking of Robert LaRoux as an aristocrat. He became, simply, a good man with the good fortune and good sense to live in the Comtesse’s chateau. Even through the leanest of times or the bitterest winter months, when peasants huddled together for warmth and cursed at the comfortable, well-fed nobility through frost-fogged breaths, Robert LaRoux was never included in their curses.
For his part, Robert LaRoux knew almost none of that. He knew that the town treated him well, but they treated his wife and his daughters well, too, so far as he saw. Robert LaRoux was a happy man, and he thought of Mont-sur-Mer as a happy place, and so, while other nobles likely thought him insane, Robert LaRoux never once brought an honor guard with him when he went alone into Mont-sur-Mer. And on this trip, the Comte was only marginally aware of what he was looking for. Until, that is, he found himself standing in front of a book shop, near the outskirts of town. Robert coughed once against the chill he felt in the air, and then decided that he needed gifts for his daughters.
There were only two other people in the book shop. One was a nearly elderly woman behind the counter who wore just a shadow of the sinister about her. The other was a massive, muscle-bound man sitting silently in the corner closest the door. He did not speak a word, but never took his eyes off of Robert from the moment the Comte entered the shop. Robert greeted them both pleasantly, then began searching the rows and tables of books for anything that his daughters might like, anything that they did not already have in their spacious library in the chateau.
For Margot and for Brigitte, his selected books were a bit disappointing and unimaginative to the Comte. He found a book about riding for Margot, although a cursory glance told him there was nothing in it that his daughter did not already know. She would, he knew, appreciate the thought. For Brigitte, he found a book about the violin. It was, again, a largely useless tome, considering his youngest daughter’s already prodigious talent with the instrument. But there were several pages in the back of the book for sheet music, several of which had been filled in by previous owners of the book. While these were clearly not the work of accomplished composers, he knew that Brigitte would be enthralled by the prospect of playing music that had been heard by only perhaps a few dozen ears.
For Elise, unfortunately, he found nothing. There were several books that he knew she would like, but unfortunately, they were all books that the chateau already possessed, and that Elise had already read. He found books of poetry that suited her tastes, but most he had found in her room already, and some that she could recite from memory. He found a book on heraldry that she would like, but it was, sadly, only a cheap and smaller replica of the tome Elise spent so much time with. Eventually, defeated, Robert went to pay for his purchases.
The woman behind the counter glanced from Robert’s face to the books and back again. “Only these two, sir?”
“Yes, please,” Robert said pleasantly.
“Gifts for your daughters, are they?”
“Yes,” Robert said, surprised at her guess. “Well, two of them, anyway. I was not able to find anything for my middle daughter.”
“Elise, yes?” The old woman asked.
Robert nodded. He should not have been surprised, he realized, that people in the town should know who he was, and who is daughters were.”
“I do have one book that she might be interested in,” the woman said. “One book that I am certain she does not already have.”
“Oh? And what is that?”
The old woman leaned to the side and addressed the large man sitting in the corner. “Francois? Stand outside! I would prefer to have no other customers for the next few minutes.”
The man grunted in acknowledgement, stood up, and left the store. Confused, Robert looked back to the woman. She was staring at him intently.
“Comte LaRoux, do you remember years ago when you helped a poor old man who had fallen in the street? Well, that old man was my father, and he was too shaken up to ever thank you.”
“Oh, that was nothing, madame. He was…”
“It was not nothing,” the woman interrupted. “My father was a bitter old man. Hated everything and everyone. Until that day. Until that day that you showed him that even nobles can be kind. He died that next summer, but I will never forget that he died with a smile, a smile which he had rarely worn in life.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Robert admitted.
“I wish to say something myself,” the old woman said, “though I risk much by saying it. Only because it is you do I risk myself like this.” She paused, glancing about the clearly empty shop conspiratorially. “There are rumors in town, sir. Rumors about your daughter. There are whispers, good Comte, that Elise LaRoux…is a mage!”
“Now, Madame, I…”
The woman held up her hand quickly. “There is no need to deny it, my lord. There is no need to confirm it, either. I merely wish to tell you that such a rumor exists, and to perhaps show you a present for the girl, that she may, or perhaps may not, have an interest in.” She pulled out a book then, with a strange, blue leather cover and a single-word title that sent a shiver down Robert’s spine. The book was called Spellcraft. “If you think that your daughter will be interested, sir, I will sell you this book at a fair and reasonable price. Of course, buying this book means nothing to those rumors, sir. It may simply be a curiosity. A novelty.”
The Comte stared at her for a long time, then, slowly, smiled. “Why, Madame shopkeeper, I believe this gift will be perfect for my daughter. She is a very bright girl, but her spelling is not what it should be. How great it is for me to see that you sell a book on the craft of spelling.”
The old woman smiled. “I am glad that I can return an overdue favor.”
She took the money and handed all three books to the Comte, who surreptitiously placed the blue-covered book in the center, the spine toward his body. “I hope that in life, and now with Goddess, that your father knows his daughter is a kind woman.”
The woman bowed her head a bit. “He knows. Those are the things that a father knows.”
The Comte smiled, and quickly left the bookstore. He nodded once to Francois, who managed just a hint of a smile at the gesture. Then, Robert LaRoux set his course back to the chateau, to give his daughters gifts that he knew they would love.
Login
Register
Card Search
NGAWiki
Search
or 
, which to choose?
. Thank you for sharing!