Bashta, tell me a story

[Cecily Rambolt]

Cecily had never particularly enjoyed side along apparition unless she was the one doing the 'driving'. There were ways and means to soften the ride for passengers but in this case, she rather thought her future brother in law wanted a bit of payback of his own. It wasn't her fault his younger brother was a proverbial horndog. Nor was it her fault that said horndog did not know how to lock a proper door. As such, it was the young blonde woman who paid for their sins now as she fought to keep her dinner in her belly.

The hard hand removed from her shoulder, thankfully, as Kalif had been pressing tightly into a nerve. She lightly flexed her arm as she looked about where they'd apparated to. Her hair fell over her shoulders as she turned around and glanced about the room. "You purebloods really know how to live large," she murmured, creeped out. The foyer was huge. She could probably have fit her parents first house in just this room. It echoed when she walked and it was damned eerie.

 

[Professor Kalif Styx]

Kalif corrected, "Not everyone in the family is pure. Mother had a single muggle in the her family." Kalif glanced around the foyer, and he listened closely. He assumed Arnost was in his bedroom, or somewhere around the place. Asparuh would be dwelling in the Patriarch's lair, where the tree rested. Kalif pointed back to through the grand hallway, and through the double doors. "Father will be in there." He waited for her to glance that way, before he apparated back to Brightstone.

 

[Cecily Rambolt]

Cecily's green eyes followed where his long arm pointed. If the foyer had been impressive, it had nothing on the hallway. Turning back to Kalif she stood there for a moment, looking at the place he'd once stood. "Thank you anyway," she muttered, fighting the urge to flee. It was like when she was a little girl, safety in numbers. You weren't quite as scared of the dark when your friend was with you. Not, she conceded as she began to walk the long and grand hallway, did Kalif consider her a friend.

Every sound, every noise, seemed amplified. As did the shadows that moved, cast from the dim candlelight. Further and further the double doors seemed. Cecily twisted her fingers together in front of her nervously before she was finally before them. Head down she muttered a quick prayer, something she hadn't been tempted to do since she was a little girl, before she grasped both handles and pulled. She had to backpeddle out of the way as they swung outward toward her. Reminding herself not to hold her breath, she walked inside the room slowly. Not a moment too soon, the doors swung shut behind her. Whirling, the skirt of her dress belling out, she bit her lip nervously. She felt very much like Alice had when she'd tumbled down the rabbit hole into Wonderland.

This room was even more grand, more large than anything she'd seen yet. Books as far as the eye could see adorned shelved walls, a beautiful fireplace with a low fire, huge crest above it. Yet it was none of these grand things that caught her eye. As yet unaware of the large man who sat in one of the two chairs facing the fireplace, she slowly walked up to the family tree that spanned the wall. It was unlike anything she had ever seen. So many names, faces, all recorded here. Prodan's family. Hesitantly her hand came up and just before she would have traced her beloved's place on the tree, she became aware that she was not alone.

Turning she spotted him. Asparuh Zhefarovich was not a diminutive man. The large chair he sat in was paired with another chair, this one even bigger with a strangely long back. Cecily turned to fully face her future father in law. She did not appear at all as she had when they had last met or even the time before when Arnost had caused Prodan to spill his drink on her. Not drinking had given the spark back to her green eyes, the youthful shine to her face and her curly blonde hair was as though spun in light gold. It moved when she moved, as though it had a life of its own, cascading in curls around her shoulders and down her back. She had dressed in a pale yellow dress, simple yet demure, and equally simple black heeled shoes. She had wanted to look her best yet not look like a made up woman. Appearances, she'd felt, would be important in this meeting.

Taking a deep breath, she curtsied in the old style, as her grandmother had taught her. Rising, she addressed him with respect. "Mr. Zhefarovich. Thank you for seeing me."

 

[Asparuh Zhefarovich III]

Asparuh stared into the flames, ignoring the occasional screeching that could be heard echoing from with the Manor. So many people have been tortured here over the past centuries and their stories remained within the walls. The only living residents of this manor was Asparuh and Arnost, who was severely injured and laying upstairs to heal. After Asparuh released his anger and wrath upon Arnost, there was hardly anything left of the man. It was a miracle Arnost even survived the whole ordeal, and it would take a few months for the twin to get back on his feet and go back into his missions. With the spells and curses Asparuh used, it would take him a long time just to be able to walk straight.

The shadows from the fire lit up Asparuh's face eerily, a blank, cold expression upon his features. More like a human statue than a being that breathed. Asparuh heard the doors open and shut, and did not bother budging or moving from his spot. His stare remained in the flames. After all, who would come to irritate him right now, of all times? There was hardly any physical wrath left within him, as he was just calm and collected as could be. Asparuh heard the footsteps and mentally took note of them, where they were at in the room.

Asparuh stated, "In this family, members kneel before the Patriarch, and bow before the Head. Remember that from now on, as you are about to become a Zhefarovich." He did not even look at Cecily, easily recognizing her voice and could see her actions from the corner of his eye. The fire danced like mad, and it made the crest hanging high and large and proud look terrifying and bold. "Why are you here, Cecily?" demanded the Patriarch in a cold, harsh tone. His moods were horrid this evening, however, he was not about to lash out at anything or anyone. As much as a bomb as he was, Asparuh was simply not in the mood to deal with lowlife excuses to be in his presence.

 

[Cecily Rambolt]

Cecily folded her hands in front of her and fought back her normally sassy manner. I kneel and bow before no man. However her prideful nature was not needed in this instance. Approaching him cautiously she answered him with a level voice. "To learn." she answered in his native tongue. Cecily had studied hard and the language rolled off her tongue as it did from Prodan's when he whispered to her through the night. It was hard standing there in front of the silver eyed patriarch yet her hands were steady, her eyes unwavering from his face and she stood firmly where she stopped, even though he offered her no seat upon which to rest. The fireplace at her back cast a glow until she looked as if she had stepped from the flames, sunshine in a room where it had known no happiness.

She watched in silence as the fire puppeted shadows across his angular face. It intrigued her how men of his and Arnost's age could remain in not only fit form, but very handsome as well. Obviously the Zhefarovich blood line ran strongly. Not for the first time she wished she could have seen what a child born of her and Prodan would look like. Would he resemble one of these proud, fierce men? Or more like her own father, big and broad with a smile and laugh that could turn anyone's black mood around. Those were pipe dreams. Ones best left tucked away until they revisited when she could cry angry, bitter, miserable tears into her pillow late at night.

Something cold crept up the back of her neck and she couldn't suppress a shudder.

 

[Asparuh Zhefarovich III]

Asparuh tore his eyes from the flames and he glared up into Cecily's green ones. If it was a few things he would be expecting out of this woman, neither would be learning his language, or coming here to learn. Asparuh could easier dive into her mind and find out for himself, but instead, he inquired, "And what it is you desire to learn?" Another screech could be heard from a few rooms down, and from that one alone, Asparuh knew who it was. Alessine Styx, the child of Kalif's that perished by a foolish action. "Pay no mind to the spirits either." A few more tortured souls in the afterlife were often the only things that made noises in this Manor. Constant yelling, shrieking, and very few of the ghosts had manners such as Anya, Aleyha's real mother. More than likely, she was watching over Arnost. Whether or not what they had was nothing short of lust, that was still the father of her child. As long as she stays quiet, then everything is fine.

 

[Cecily Rambolt]

Cecily felt the glare of his eyes like a punch upon her system. His eyes, once silver, appeared black within the firelight and from temper. Her fingers stopped their nervous fretting before her, dropping slowly to her sides to rest within the folds of her skirt. She hadn't thought she would enjoy anything about this visit, nothing at all. Truth be told she was nervous and frightened. She would be a foolish prideful git not to admit that to herself. Yet this was important, far more important than the discomfort of nerves or the heels slowly digging into her feet. However she found herself enjoying his native tongue. The intonation, the ease, the quiet mastery of it. Yes she could see why Asparuh was Patriarch over his brother, why Prodan himself, a strong man in his own right, would have cause to fearfully respect this man.

"I desire," she began, never taking her eyes from his, "to learn the history behind the mark you shall bestow upon me." Her fingers spasmed as someone screamed in the distance. It echoed eerily to clash upon her eardrums. Don't mind them? She suppressed another shudder. "I shall try my best not to."

 

[Asparuh Zhefarovich III]

His arms folded over her chest, his posture completely straight and formal. One could compare him to a dark ruler in his throne. Her question made him narrow his bleak, bottomless eyes upon her, a question that has been asked many a time, all through the history of the bloodline. Who told Asparuh this secret was Ivaylo himself before passing away. Those only in line to to the Patriarch position would ever know it, and those who were just added to the family, it was a disgrace for them to know this secret. Asparuh also had to be careful about who to choose when he decided to give the position of Head of the family to Kalif. A mark that resembled nothing but evil, from the snakes to the fork that they were wrapped around. "The history is ancient, and someone added to the family line will never know its history, what it symbolizes other than the family name. Not even your husband-to-be will ever know it. Only those lined to the throne, the ones that hold the position as Patriarch of the family or Head, which is Kalif."

Asparuh's gaze trailed up the crest hanging high and proud over the fireplace. "Those added in are not worthy to know the secret, as what the first Patriarch said a long time ago, and they are not even worthy enough to share the same size of mark as the descendants of the Zhefarovich bloodline. You are new to these traditions, but heed to them, or be punished." It was as simple as that. However, the punishments could be limitless. "Many things will remain a mystery to you, such as why most of these rooms are off limits to guests, and why no one knows where this Manor is, including why only a descendant can apparate someone in. You best get used to it." Asparuh's cold stare went back to Cecily Rambolt, and his face remained cold and bland. It was not often he spoke that much to really anyone unless he was preaching to them about the sins of their ways in the family. Perhaps soon, she will receive much of his lectures in life, because Asparuh was not about to pass away anytime soon.

 

[Cecily Rambolt]

His words were harsh, their meaning even more so. What had she expected coming here? For him to pat his lap and offer to tell her a story by a cozy fire? Her hands balled against her skirt and for a moment she bowed her head in contemplation. She fought urges, tempered sarcastic wit that would never be appreciated by a man such as him. After a moments silence she raised her head and slowly walked to one of the windows to look out upon the stormy grounds. "I cannot fault you your family traditions, nor your right to uphold secrets." Troubled green eyes flicked across the dark rain clouds. "I may have what you and others in your family consider muddied blood." She turned to him, her hands out a ways from her sides, palms outward. "But it is simple and honest in its simplicity." Head lowered slightly, fingers slowly twisting before her, she began to walk toward him again. Once there, she did not ask for permission, merely perched on the very edge of the chair next to his.

Turning her to head to meet his gaze, she told him. "I do not take this tattoo upon my body for you or for your traditions. I do so for the man I love. He has asked it of me so do it I shall." She expelled a shaky breath and her lips quirked as her eyes moved between his to try to gauge what he could possibly be thinking. "I know it won't matter to you how hard this is for me, because of my past. To subject myself to someone who asks me to kneel before him and to brand my skin, it-" she stopped herself, shaking her head ruefully. "It doesn't matter. I came to you because I wanted to know more. About your family, about your traditions that will become my traditions. That maybe you would show me a drop of courtesy in exchange for the pain I'm sure you will inflict."

Rising she looked at him with a sad, wistful smile on her face. "Keep your secrets, Mr. Zhefarovich. I shall see you again the day of the marking." She turned to leave the room.

 

[Asparuh Zhefarovich III]

"And to not do so, you would lose your soon-to-be-husband, as tradition states implicitly." Asparuh fought the urge to laugh at the simple-minded woman. Coming before him now was crossing into dangerous territory, and thus amused him. Asparuh knew full and well that the mark will hurt. It always had, even when he received it when he was sixteen. Arnost grimaced and Asparuh took the pain as an event of honor. He could recall the pain as if it were yesterday. Standing up, the fire seemed to increase excitedly, as if it were being commanded by Asparuh himself but it was not. Merely an illusion from the darkness that lingered and lurked in the Manor. It seemed like the Manor itself was a being of its own when Asparuh was about. Otherwise, everything was still and quiet.

Asparuh used his magic to appear before Cecily, stopping her from leaving. Asparuh gazed down at her, arms crossed, and he said, "I know you know when you are supposed to receive the mark, after the sixth month and sixth week of your entrance into the family. However, it has been delayed." Asparuh paused, his lingering gaze went to the family tree and then back to Cecily. "I must not give the mark to a woman who carries an unborn child for it would be devastating to the child's well-being." Asparuh's eyes went to her stomach for just a moment, and back to her eyes. There was not a sense of joke in his eyes or in his being himself. What he said, it was fact. And if she needed proof, he could easily show her. The family tree seemed to be getting better when it came to predicting pregnancies. There were three in the tree now: Estrella Styx, Nataliia Dragonov, and now Cecily Rambolt.

 

[Cecily Rambolt]

Cecily faltered in step and stopped abruptly as Asparuh appeared before her. He was too large, too close and for a moment as her head tipped back to meet his gaze from his formidable height she felt boxed in and afraid. She forced air into her stubborn lungs as they tried to close up in panic on her. Delayed? Her eyes mirrored her confusion. She followed his glance and for a moment, one terrifying moment, she thought he meant to stop the wedding. When he spoke again, she saw his mouth moving, heard the words as they formed but once he said 'unborn child' her world stopped.

"Child?" she whispered, slipping back to English. A joke, it was a horrible joke, designed by him to drive her from the family. It had to be. Yet his silver eyes were unwavering and serious. Dead serious. She drew in a sharp breath. "Mr. Zhefarovich, I am unable to have children." She felt anger at him for instilling for one moment a horrible sense of hope.

 

[Asparuh Zhefarovich III]

Asparuh shook his head, now in English, as if she would understand it more than his native tongue, "As unable as the rest of the members of the family. Come." With one hand, he led her to the family tree at his own speed, and he stared at it for a moment, before finding Prodan and Cecily upon it. He pointed to the line that descended down from the horizontal line that said that they were engaged. "That means you are pregnant. If you don't think it is true..." Asparuh showed her Estrella's, a huge unfortunate event that was. And finally to Nataliia's. The baby would be out soon, but nonetheless the line was there. Surely she knew about Nataliia being pregnant.

"I do not know what made you think I was lying, but I only lie when it comes necessary." How could she think he was lying, pulling her leg? And he did not know that she believed that she was unable. However, she was perfectly able, as she was carrying Prodan's child. Whether it would be a boy or a girl, it is unknown. "And the tree is never wrong..." Asparuh's eyes lingered over to Kalif's own picture, Namina's death date written clearly upon it, and Anne Rogers was on there as well. Dorothee was beside Prodan, but the line was broken, and the picture faded just like Namina's. Death by the Patriarch. That is a splendid way to be killed, to Asparuh at least.

 

[Cecily Rambolt]

Slowly she approached the many twisting branches of the Zhefarovich family tree, led by the Patriarch himself. There was Estrella Drage, now Styx, her mouth quirked. She hadn't been aware of her marriage nor of her upcoming baby. Her eyes sought out the proof she had known before, that Prodan had told her. Nataliia's face and her husband's, along with the small line for their babe. Her green eyes were painfully dry, they slid closed, her hand closed into a fist and she swore by Merlin if this were a cruel joke, she would bury it within Asparuh's pureblood face.

Shaky unpainted fingers hesitantly reached out. How had she not seen it before, knew what it meant? Her eyes snapped open. Prodan's face looked down upon her as if to give her strength. It bolstered her and finally her fingers connected with the small line. The line that represented something she had never thought to have. Something she should not be able to have. As if someone had suddenly twisted something within her she began crying, great racking sobs as she knew it to be true.

 

[Asparuh Zhefarovich III]

Asparuh rolled his eyes when she finally seemed to believe him, and the crying gave it away. He shook his head, and he walked back over to his chair before he took his place once more in it. He took out his wand and he pointed at the fireplace. At least now she could floo out and she would not know where the Manor is still. Asparuh's hand went to his forehead for a moment, as he was not the type of man who tolerated such emotions around him. Asparuh stated, "Go, and tell Prodan if you wish." If he had known that she would get this upset or overwhelmed, he would have never showed her to begin with. Just let her figure it out for herself. At least now she could be more careful with carrying the embryo. Asparuh listened to the whispers of the house, as he attempted to tune out Cecily, and his gaze locked onto the fire once more.

 

[Cecily Rambolt]

Hands pressed together into a painful knot, clapsed against her chest as if to hold in the years of hurt that threatened escape. She had forgotten the man in the room, the world had faded until all that remained were Cecily and the small line that represented her baby. Her baby. Shakily her hands unraveled and traveled down to rest and cradle her still flat belly. Inside, somehow she now knew, inside her baby rested. Her mind transported her back to the night Prodan proposed to her, when they had spilled every last inner secret to one another. The emotion, the beautiful way they had made up to each other, how could something precious not have come from such love?

Tears still wet and fell down her cheeks as slowly she came back to herself. The rest of the world reappeared and the once forgotten man who had shown her this glorious gift sat still once more. Aloof. Alone. Was he always alone? Uncaring of what he thought of her, she approached him and knelt at his side, bowing her head. "Bashta," she choked out through a voice tight with tears. For now he was her father as surely as he was Prodan's, as magical law would pronounce them within weeks. "Thank you." If it hadn't been for him, Prodan would never have been born. Cecily would never have known with anyone the happiness she knew now with him.

 

[Asparuh Zhefarovich III]

Asparuh gave her an odd stare, very much like Kalif's. Only now, Asparuh was purely disgusted by the emotions. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. Standing, Asparuh said, "You are free to floo out." That was all he could say. He was horribly agitated now, and he could not even get peace in this room. Standing, he started out of the room, both doors automatically opening before him. His robes flowed wildly as he walked. Asparuh waved his hand and the doors slammed shut. Asparuh decided to go to his bedroom. Perhaps there, he would get the peace of mind he so longed for.

 

[Cecily Rambolt]

Cecily sat back on her heels and wiped her eyes. She let herself cry for a few moments more before they were gone for the moment. Standing up she could no long hold back the joy and it erupted in bright laughter. She laughed with joy, she laughed with hope and she could not hide the fact that she laughed at the picture she would always hold within her head. Something she would one day tell her child and their children. The day that Cecily Rambolt made Asparuh Zhefarovich flee. Chuckling, she wiped her cheeks and approached the fireplace, grabbing a hand of floo powder. After all, what man in their right man wouldn't flee an emotional woman's tears with no unviolent means of making them stop.

Calling out in a clear voice she threw the ashes into the fire and stepped within its green flames.