[Fic][QfG] A Long and Bitter Winter

[wallwalker]

I left a bunch of Quest for Glory prompts on fic_promptly, then decided to write a fill so that there'd be at least one.

Title: A Long and Bitter Winter
Fandom: Quest for Glory (QfG 1)
Characters: Baron Stefan von Speilberg, OC
Rating: SFW
Summary: The curse has taken everything from him, including his strength.
Notes: The prompt was this quote: 'Tis bitter cold, and I am sick at heart.

The Baron of Speilberg stood at his window, watching his guards patrol the nearly-empty courtyard in fading uniforms. He could smell the sharpness of the approaching chill in the air; soon the snows would fall, and the paths in and out of the valley would be all but impassable by mundane means of travel. It would be more appropriate for them to be so isolated all of the time, perhaps, but they were not so cursed, not in that way.

So little had changed in Speilberg since the day he'd lost both of his children. The land had grown old and tired, just like its ruler. Once Stefan von Speilberg had been an adventurer and a dragonslayer, and his name had been known throughout the neighboring countries. But now he was like the other adventurers in the land, jaded and lost, dreaming of happier days in the past.

He heard footsteps approaching him from the hallway outside of his rooms, and turned around as his minister spoke, knocking on the door. "My Lord, may I enter?"

"Of course," he said, moving to sit down at his desk. The change in the weather made his bones and old scars ache; moving was not always easy for him anymore. "Come in."

His old minister walked into the room, leaning on his cane. He was not so spry himself, but his eyes and mind were sharp, despite his age. "Forgive my disturbance, but there are visitors in the castle, my Lord - envoys from a far-off land. They wish an audience with you."

"Do they?" he asked, shaking his head. What could he say to them? He was hardly a Baron anymore, only a broken old man. "I assume you told them I wish to see no one."

"Of course, my Lord, but they insisted. They said they would speak only to you."

"Go back to them. Tell them that I have given you the authority to speak in your stead." He wrote a few words on parchment, sealed it with the wax from the room's lone candle. "This will serve as proof, if they demand it."

His minister took the note, but hesitated, holding it in his knobby hands. "And if they still demand an audience with you, my Lord?"

"Then they will be fortunate enough to have no dealings with this cursed land." He sighed. How many times had he told his servants the same thing? "They will have to be satisfied with my terms, or with nothing at all."

"I see, my Lord." His minister's voice was colder than before, as he turned away. "I will go and speak to them at once."

The Baron nearly let it pass. But as he heard the door began to creak, he spoke up. "Speak your mind, old friend," he said, just loud enough to hear over the old hinges. "I know you are troubled."

His minister turned back to him, and the Baron heard him sigh. "My Lord... I am truly sorry. I know that I cannot imagine the pain that you have suffered... that you still suffer, even after all of these years."

The Baron nodded, acknowledging the sympathetic words, but he kept his eyes on the old man's downturned face, and waited.

At last the man shook his head. "I know that you suffer, but you are still Lord over this land. Speilberg has grown smaller, but there are still people who live here. Good people." He looked up, met the Baron's eyes. "People who need a strong leader."

The Baron smiled sadly. "I know, old friend," he said. "I know. But... I do not think I can be that man now. Please, convey my regrets."

"I will, my Lord," the man said, and turned to shuffle slowly away.

The Baron did not stand up again. He only turned to the window, looking out over the mountains. His minister was right, of course, and once he would have done anything for his country. But the curse on his family had taken that away from him as well, and try as he might, he could not find the drive to bring it back. He'd tried, when the curse had still been new; he'd travelled the country, had even tried to climb the mountains to the east to find the hero that was said to have the power to break the curse. But every time their attempts had met with failure. Men had died - he himself had very nearly lost his leg. The bone was healed, but it still throbbed with pain when the winter came.

There was nothing he could do for the land he loved. And as the years passed, the hope that someone would come to help them - in his lifetime, or even in the lifetimes of his lost children, should they still survive - grew dimmer and dimmer.

Once again, they would have a long and bitter winter.