The Second Stay

This is an add on to my other story A Happily Ever After, After All. If you're new, you should go read that first to make sure this makes sense, or at least read the first five chapters and come back.

I originally wrote this to make sure what I was saying in the main story about Charming's visits and Fiona's letters made sense and it wasn't too weird. It wasn't ever supposed to be uploaded, I've been back and forth-ing over whether to upload this for months now, but I quite like how it turned out, so why not? I spent a few days polishing it and decided to go for it. I made it a separate story from the main plot as it's so different it didn't feel right to just stick it on the end.

Explanations aside, I hope you like it.

. . .

Fiona allowed herself to scan her surroundings. They had remade the room, at least. There were fresh sheets on the bed. New mirrors, new torches, new curtains framing the bed, a new carpet, new door, new ceiling, they had scrubbed away the chalk that had covered the wall. The one thing left was the old and worn tapestry, hanging where it had always done. The beautiful Princess with the long tumbling hair looking upon her gallant Prince, it was their fairy tale. It was mocking her, she could tell. Fiona decided she would have ripped it down if it wouldn't then expose the bare wall, reminding her that she had been free, waiting for her to mark her new stay. She looked around again, so much newness, so many little differences, and yet it was still the same. The same room she had spent so many years in.

She turned her gaze to the window, watching the last banners of her kingdom fade away. Fiona didn't know whether to cry or scream. So she didn't do either. They wouldn't keep her here, she slowly reassured herself. Of course they wouldn't. They were teaching her a lesson. Punishing her for things she could not help. She did not choose to fall in love with who she did. She didn't choose to be rescued by who she was. Charming was simply exercising his new power. He'd see sense soon enough. Or Rapunzel would make him. She would. She was placed in a tower herself, she hated it as much as Fiona did. She knew Fiona was pregnant. They surely couldn't leave her here because of that. No. They wouldn't. They'd make her think they were. But they'd get her, she thought with resolve. They probably put her in a special cell, or something. She would wait for them. She would be good. If she wasn't good, she feared they might be encouraged to punish her more. She couldn't risk that. Not anymore.

It frustrated her, that she couldn't do anything. That they had a power over her. Fiona looked to the lava moat below, it was the only thing keeping her there. That and the locked door. They had tied together a new bridge, forced her over it and then chopped it back down after they crossed to leave. There was a way to get out. Fiona knew there was, somehow. But, where would she go? Her hope was dashed. If she escaped against their will she couldn't go home, that would be the first place they looked. They'd find her, wherever she went. She didn't know many places, she reluctantly admitted. She had spent the majority of her life in that room. Besides, she was an ogre. It's not like many places would keep her. She would also eventually have a baby, that made her even less likely to find a place to stay when she needed it most urgently. If there was anything Fiona had learnt being home with Shrek was how much prejudice fuelled hatred humans felt towards ogres. Though, with him that had been a source of fun. By herself, being held down by pregnancy and an eventual baby, it wouldn't be fun, it would be terrifying.

Fiona considered the option that she had gotten it wrong. That she wasn't pregnant at all. She had missed a couple of months' cycle because of stress, that the nausea which had begun to plague her days was just a natural reaction to what had happened to her. Perhaps if she considered it more she would convince herself that it was true. Enough to give her the courage to find a way to escape. To think that she had nothing else to lose. Fiona peered out of the window, down the side of the tower, it was a long way down. She shuddered. No. She couldn't, there was too much evidence to suggest that she was. She had never missed a month before. Life had been going so well when she first realised she was late, she was happy. Fiona didn't dwell too much on the memories. She couldn't afford to start crying, not yet. She didn't want to think about how much easier the situation would be if she wasn't pregnant either. She cursed her poor timing. She cursed how much she cared for what was within her. She cursed how desperately she needed this part of her husband to belong to her. It was all she had left.

They had taken her from her cell late at night, chained her wrists, pointed spears at her. She had screamed and shouted at them. Everyone in the dungeons was perfectly aware of her exit. Fiona wondered if they came at night to try and take her quietly, without her family and friends knowing. They had called back. She could still hear her Mother calling her name after they had closed the heavy dungeon door. At first she thought they were taking her to be killed. She was competition for the throne, as was Artie, she thought he would have been next. He had been the quietest of them all in there, unresponsive to their comforting words. As soon as they pushed her outside and into a barred carriage she knew exactly what was happening. That's when she screamed and protested the loudest. She didn't want to give Charming the satisfaction though she couldn't help but cry. He had laughed at her. He was colder than she thought he could have ever been. Fiona didn't think she could have hated him any more than she already did. She was wrong.

By chains and ropes they pulled her over the bridge. She pulled against their force and protested as much as she dared with the spearmen closely following behind her. She hated herself for crying as much as she did, but she couldn't help it. Every step closer to the tower made it more real, more horrifying. By the time they had struggled to drag her into the keep and to the stairs she had managed to compose herself. Only then did Charming speak as he led the group. She refused to listen, nor look at him. His words meant nothing to her, she stared in silence at the stone steps they slowly ascended, seeing her husband being stabbed with each and every one.

The longer she stared out that window, that solitary window, the more she yearned to cry. The view hadn't changed. It was exactly the same. The reality hit her. Her husband, her true love, was gone forever. She, by herself, was now trapped in the tower she despised so much. She was also carrying the child she had once been so excited for, now having to raise alone. Her happily ever after disappeared as quickly as it had come. The ogress collapsed onto the bed, as she had done many times before, and sobbed until sleep took over her.

. . .

Eventually Fiona managed to stop crying so much. She began to find herself falling into the pattern she once lived by before. Every morning she would wake as the first rays of sunlight entered her window, a habit she had only just shaken. Though she often found it was much more pleasant to not have her entire body undergo a transformation twice a day. She began to force herself to see the positives, she had always been such an optimistic person, much to Shrek's opposite. She would compare her two stays, not considering anything that had happened outside of the tower. Not thinking about that at all. Remaining an ogress was definitely favourable to changing with the sun. No guard was better than a dragon. Knowing someone would definitely come to get her in the near future was preferable to watching knight after knight arrive and never leave again. The fluttery movements she eventually was able to feel within her was much better than the complete loneliness she felt before.

Fiona had very much resented her pregnancy until she realised the strange butterfly motions within her were the baby. It was then that she began to feel the first sparks of excitement crawling back. Of course by then her waist had already grown to the point where she was starting to expand her dresses. That was no easy task for the Princess, who was skilled at needlework and dressmaking, for her lack of materials and tools. Charming had much less of a clue as to what to give her than her parents. She dared ask for more fabric, so much so that she could make a new dress, one she would easily be able to adjust for her expanding middle. Much to her luck when the man arrived with her weekly provisions, the fabric she had asked for came too. This was different to before. Her parents had magic through the Fairy Godmother. Charming didn't. He relied on a single man with a couple of birds and a basket to deliver the things she needed to survive, among other small things to occupy her time. That must have been someone else's idea, if it was left up to him, she'd have nothing, she knew this. When she considered it, it seemed very fitting for a Princess, for a fairy tale. Except her fairy tale had ended, this appeared to be her ever after now. If it wasn't so essential to her survival she would have knocked the basket from their beaks and thrown it into the lava. Fortunately, included in those small things were paper and writing utensils. Though she told herself she'd be good, she was unable to resist sending him words of her hatred. She used up her paper supplies every time on sending him threats, general discouragement and her thoughts on his demise. She didn't know whether they ever reached him. She didn't care. It helped her work out her anger. Though she never once mentioned what was growing within her. Fiona was scared her mention might act as a reminder to use it as a tool.

Her pregnancy had troubled her a lot since she first realised that she was growing. It meant she couldn't hide it when they came for her. She wasn't sure how much Shrek's baby would change things. There was also that. This was Shrek's baby. Their baby. But he was gone. She often cried when she considered the situation. It didn't feel real to her, and yet it was, every time she saw herself in the mirror. She considered smashing it, to not be able to see herself. Not until they came to get her. But Fiona couldn't help but worry a little that they weren't. By the time she could feel the baby moving, she guessed she would have been three months into her pregnancy, that meant she had been in the tower for two. She had long lost count of how many days it had been. She had obsessively counted before, it was the only way she knew what the date was, what season it was, when her birthday arrived. Fiona felt no need to count again, she didn't want to touch the tapestry. They would come for her before too long. They had to.

As she sat, staring out her window, she wondered if any wandering knight would come, having heard her story too late. She wondered how far the news of her rescue had travelled and how quickly. How many rescuers had come, to find the dragon and the Princess gone? She quietly hoped someone might still come for her. That they would be kind. Perhaps they'd help her, hide her, house her until the baby was old enough to be without her and take revenge. Perhaps? One day Fiona even dared think that maybe she might end up marrying this new rescuer, that she could still have her happily ever after. The consequences of her thoughts quickly hit her, how could she even consider doing such a thing? Her thoughts returned to their baby. They were safer there. Even safer still, she imagined seeing her friends rush into her vision, that they could escape Charming's grasp and rescue her. Perhaps they were plotting as she daydreamed. But, would they know she was there? As far as Fiona knew, they were clueless as to where she went. Though Charming probably boasted, he had seemed so pleased with himself before. Fiona wondered how long her Mother had spent calling out to her before she accepted she was gone. Might they even think she was dead? What did she even know about them? Feeling herself beginning to panic, Fiona settled on imagining them all coming for her. What a welcome sight that would be.

. . .

It surprised her how much joy the pregnancy gave her, if only fleeting. She desperately tried to take on the attitude that she wasn't alone, that the baby within her was real company. She toyed between fantasising about a baby boy or a baby girl, who they would be like, what they would look like. They would probably have Shrek's eyes, she had decided, her knowledge of basic biology helping a little. She wondered if Shrek had any hair to pass on, she realised a little sadly that she had never asked if he once had hair and lost it or never had any at all. In any case, the baby would probably inherit her hair. Everything Fiona read, she read out loud. She liked to think the baby within her could hear her words. When she sang the baby would wriggle, so she sang to a lot. It made her happy to think there was someone listening, even if they couldn't hear it very well. It was different, her stay in the tower, she would often conclude. It was good, she would try and tell herself. She didn't want to think about how quickly she would have lost her sanity had she not been pregnant. She didn't want to think about what she would have done if not.

Any day now. She would tell herself again and again. Staring hopefully out of her window. Waiting for guards to collect her. They'd tie her hands together, push her and shout orders at her. She'd resist, of course she'd try to defy them. But she'd be free again. Charming would have taught her the non-existent lesson and she'd be able to properly start preparing for the arrival of her little one. Perhaps everyone in the dungeon would be waiting for her. They'd have a part for her in their plan. Though she was sure they'd account for her condition. She'd have her friends and her Mother. Her baby would grow up with all those people around them. It would never substitute their Father, but it would do. Or, perhaps that wouldn't be the case. Perhaps she would be taken back to the dungeon and that's where she'd stay. At least she'd be given proper things for a baby, she'd be given help with the birth. She'd have her Mother's comforting words every day. That would be better than this.

Better still, she could insist upon a doctor. Fiona was growing concerned as the baby grew within her. She was ever so thankful she hadn't lashed out in a particularly emotional moment and smashed the mirror. She could see exactly how big she was getting, and didn't seem to stop. Fiona hadn't been around many people in her life, let alone pregnant people. But how big was one baby going to get? And if it was only one baby, and it was continuing to grow, she wondered how on earth it was going to get out. But the evidence didn't suggest it was one baby. She often felt the baby moving within her, and yet when she watched, it sometimes appeared as though it had limbs coming out of its head. Fiona didn't like to dwell on it, the thought that she might have twins, or worse… more, terrified her. At least she didn't want to think about it while she was still there, in that tower. Once she was out she would demand a doctor, find out for sure. Until then, she remained sure it was only one. Though that doubt crept back again and again, that she wouldn't find out until she gave birth, that no doctor would ever be available to her, that she would remain there, in that one room.

It was months before Fiona slowly realised no one was coming for her. She tried shouting to the person who delivered her provisions every week, she never got a reply. Up the birds would fly, set the basket on her windowsill, take her letter and swoop down again to the silent worker. He'd fire across a rope, cross the lava and chop the escape route down. Leaving her once again for another week. Eventually she stopped sending letters. Clearly nothing was working in her favour. She cursed her decision to wait, she could have done something. She could have escaped. It quickly became too late. Her vastly increasing size was much of an issue. The resentment for the baby within her crawled back, unwelcome and horrible for the ogress. If she tried hard enough surely she could break down the door, she could get out, hide while the provisions man arrived and cross the rope he'd fire and run… That was if she wasn't pregnant. In her current state there was no way she was fast or agile enough to pull any sort of escape off. And then there was the risk of damaging the baby, and that made her feel sick. Though she knew she hated her situation, she hated the thought of losing the last piece of Shrek more, much, much more.

Charming was reading the letters, or at least receiving them. Her speculations were confirmed when she was awoken from her daydream one evening by the clatter of hooves and carriage wheels, armoured bodies emerging from within. She withdrew back further into her room and peeked as much as she dared. It had only been four times she had sent the bird back to the keeper with nothing in its claw, only four weeks he hadn't gotten anything from her. He was concerned. There was no other reason he'd visit. Her curious gaze grew hard as she spotted him amongst his men. He wore King's clothing, her Father's crown, clearly those he had imprisoned had not succeeded to do anything, if they were still imprisoned of course. She watched him walk closer, staring entirely at her window. She took careful steps forward, following him with her eyes. He left his men behind. She willed him to come to her. Her pregnancy didn't faze her, she was still stronger than him, she could best him easily, especially if he was alone. He crossed the lava, shooting an arrow, skimming across. He slowly, much too slow for the ogress' liking, approached the Keep. He stopped, held a hand to his face, a gesture to better his vision, she backed away quickly. If he wanted to see her, he could come to her room. She found herself speaking to him, hushed words, inviting him. But he turned away. Disappointment flooded her body, she didn't realise how much she wanted him to come to her. She didn't realise how much she wanted, no, needed revenge. Alas he began to leave, back to his men. Fiona almost shouted after him, almost. She didn't, swallowing down her anger. If he was provoked he might bring his men, she couldn't risk that, unless they would let her go. At that moment, it seemed unlikely, from the limited vision she had, it was only the King's carriage and his accompanying men. It occurred to her that he may be checking to see whether she was alive, how easy it would be for her to throw herself out the window. But how would he have known… the torchlight. She cursed herself for not putting them out as she heard his approach. If he came again, she'd be ready.

. . .

The birth was long and awful. It awoke her in the early hours of the morning, a little before sunrise. Immediately she forced herself to spread cloth over the floor, prop pillows against the wall, open the trunk she had cleared, get the sheets and towels ready, place everything she'd need where she would be able to reach. She had decided she didn't want to give birth on the bed, she didn't want to ruin the mattress in fear that she wouldn't be able to get anything new to replace it. Fiona then paced around her small room until she could pace no more, and settled herself down for what lasted well into the afternoon. Months earlier she had dug into the trunks of books under her bed, to find her educational ones, specifically the one outlining conception, pregnancy, childbirth and babies. It didn't have as much detail as she'd have liked, but it was all she had to guide her. She had read it and reread it so many times she could recite it from memory.

As a new voice entered the tower with short breathless cries, just as the sky was turning pink, Fiona's tears of frustration, fear and pain were mixed with happiness. She took the infant in shaking hands, and wrapped him up tight. It was a boy. She forced herself into a more upright position and held him close. "Hello," she spoke softly, it was odd, speaking to someone who could hear her. Tears did not stop falling as she smiled at the baby who cried out in her arms, "I'm so sorry," she whispered to him, she didn't know what else to say. She held onto him, taking in every detail of his tiny scrunched up face. He was perfect, she eventually concluded. Though she wasn't granted peace for very long. Fear seized her as pain struck again. "There might not be another," she mumbled to herself over and over. She didn't want to give into the pressure to push more. She didn't want to do anything. She wanted it to all go away. For this to be her only child. For everything to end now. But it didn't. After three pushes and no afterbirth to be seen, she tentatively accepted she was having another. When the second boy arrived she cried harder. Wrapping him up, greeting him and apologising again. Twins. It was okay, she wiped her tears. Just as she was about to move, about to begin what she had prepared for the afterbirth, pain, just as intense as before, gripped her whole body. She pushed down, praying, wishing with all her might, it was not what she thought. And yet it was. Quicker this time, a third baby emerged. Fiona cried harder still, she didn't pick up the baby straight away as she had with the other two. She simply stared at it, shaking with sobs. This wasn't supposed to happen. After a couple of minutes she registered that the baby wasn't crying, and that it was a girl. She forced herself into action, lifting the baby, holding her face down, using cloth to rub against her back and chest. She was panicking. This baby wasn't supposed to exist, but now that it did, it definitely wasn't supposed to stop existing. Fiona wasn't sure what she would do if it did. "Please c-cry, I'm so, so s-sorry, p-please," she choked on her words, choked on her own breath, tears falling thick and fast. And eventually, to her overwhelming relief the baby did. Gasping for breath and much quieter than her brothers, the baby girl cried.

That night she didn't sleep. She was exhausted, but she couldn't stop watching them. It was not happiness she felt, but fear. Intense fear. That one would die. That something would happen. That she wouldn't be able to cope. Just when Fiona thought she had no more tears to cry more came. "What am I going to do?" she whispered into the darkness, to herself, to them, to no one in particular. She allowed herself to think about her home, the home she had only spent a month living in. That month being the best of her life. She thought about the crib Shrek would have built, how it would sit beside her side of the bed. She thought about all the tiny outfits she would have made for them, all the toys she would have sewn together and Shrek would have made. She thought of all the kisses they would have showered these three tiny beings with, all the love they would have given them. That would never happen. Not now. Not in this universe. She didn't feel the way her Mother had spoken to her about. She didn't feel like a Mother at all. She felt like a captor and a prisoner at the same time. In one hand, she was the reason they were here, she hated herself, she cried for them, for the life they were going to live. On the other hand, they were pushing her limits only being hours old, they were a reminder of what she once had, what could have been, what should have been. She hated them. And that only made her hate herself even more.

The next weeks were hell. If she had thought it was difficult before, she was very wrong. She rarely slept. Was constantly soothing a crying baby, feeding one or changing one. Days and nights seemed to merge together, times of restfulness didn't exist. She slept when they did, when they would miraculously go down together, though this was never for very long. She slept by accident, waking suddenly, terrified something had happened whilst she was not conscious to watch. Even though she now shared the tower room with three small people, she had never felt more alone in her life. She began sending letters back every week. Some contained words of anger, some of sorrow, some just held one word and nothing more. She wanted to make sure they knew she was alive, that she hadn't given up like he had previously thought. She didn't know who read them, if anyone even bothered to open them. Just so if they stopped receiving them, they'd be likely to get concerned again. The only reason she would stop sending them would be if she was too weak to put pen to paper. She hoped someone would come then, come and either give medical attention or take them back to the kingdom. If it appeared they would be too late, she'd take the children with her. It made her shudder to think of what Charming would do to them if she wasn't around to protect them. So she never even hinted towards their existence, in the fear someone might come and take them away from her.

They were four months old before Fiona realised it was no longer her own instinct keeping them alive, it was her love for them. They had begun to respond to her, laughing, copying her, it made her less alone. She realised she needed them, no matter how difficult it was. Over time her children became her biggest fear, her greatest misery, but also her overwhelming joy. She did everything she could to make sure they were happy. She voiced all of her thoughts, spoke to them as often as she could, hoping it would encourage them to pick up speech what with the limited conversation they were exposed to in the tower room. She dared request more items every so often, though it was never much. Just enough for their clothes, sheets, things to make toys and of most importance to make sure they could be fed. She realised food was barely plentiful for her, let alone three others who couldn't rely on her forever. Fiona began storing all the food that would keep, sacrificing as much as she could without putting herself in ill health. Though what she was able to do was little, she couldn't help but feel a little proud of herself considering her circumstance.

. . .

The triplets were just walking when he visited again. In much of a contrast to the last time, when she heard the carriages approaching, she panicked. She figured it was about a year after his last visit. The triplets were approaching two, she realised this was late for the typical child to start walking. Or so she assumed according to what her one book had taught her, but when confined to one room she found they didn't have anywhere to walk, nor much use for it. This had worried her until finally one of her sons' attempted to take a shaky step towards her and promptly fell back down, a lip trembling, making her scoop him up into her arms and laugh in relief at their late, yet continued progress. Though now, as her children disliked being handled too much and preferred their own new found independence, it was a great deal harder to keep them altogether. By herself in the tower room, she barely had a need to keep them under control, but if he was going to come and get her, how would she be able to protect them?

Scooping up the three of them, she placed them on the bed, shushing their protests. She daren't take her eyes off of the men that began to emerge over the hill. She desperately battled with the toddlers as they tried to squirm from her grip and climb off the bed. Eventually having to break her gaze and gather all the toys she could find from the room and pile them upon the bed with them. She scurried back over to the window and carefully peered out, she immediately spotted Charming amongst the armoured men, scowling. The triplets continued to fuss, despite her best efforts, she peeled her attention away as their protests grew louder and threatened to turn to cries.

"No, no, shh," she pulled the three of them against her, wrapping her arms around them and rocked back and forth. Eyes darting between them and the slowly approaching visitor. Much to her surprise the children took to her embrace, she silently thanked her luck. If he heard their cries he would come, she knew it. And then what would she do? If they struggled against her hold she had great difficulty in carrying all three of them at the same time, but they couldn't walk by themselves. She wouldn't be able to make them stay on the bed away from her if she needed to confront him alone. Tears threatened to fall as she watched him cross the lava, once again he left his men behind. That was reassuring, it meant he wouldn't take her away, nor would he take them away. But he could still hurt them, she looked about the room for anything she could use as a weapon. A heavy book perhaps? He would terrify them, that much she was sure, at least it would make them cling to her and protest if they were pulled away. Looking back out the window, he was standing, staring up at her, she ducked away, praying he didn't catch a glimpse of her.

"It's okay, it'll be okay," she whispered to them, kissing each of their heads, though she was speaking more to herself. They were completely unaware of their awful situation, how high their room was, or the lava below. They didn't know who this man was, or why he was such a threat to their tiny lives. They didn't even know who their Father was. Only her, and each other, and that one room. She looked back out the window, he had turned away and was walking back, as he had done before. She sighed in relief, releasing restless bundle of toddlers she held. It didn't matter. She was all they needed. And she would do everything she could to make it okay. It was going to be okay. She told herself over and over as she watched the royal party disappear. She wiped away a tear from her cheek and was immediately side-tracked from her thoughts as one child ripped a cloth from another's grip and began to scream.

. . .

Were it not for the children Fiona definitely would have smashed the mirror. She could braid her hair with ease without looking, she had years of practise, she didn't care for the way she looked day by day, she had no one to impress now. Whenever her gaze caught the mirror she never liked it to linger. She barely remembered what she used to look like, but she knew it wasn't like this. The stress, worry and confinement had taken its visible toll on her. It took Fiona a while to get used to herself as an ogre, with Shrek's constant reassurance and kind words. She had no one now but her reflection to form her opinion around. Though it was different. She had accepted her ogress form, embraced it, what she disliked was the dark circles under her eyes, the frown lines she had managed to collect over the few years she had been stuck there. She had to tighten her dresses twice from the weight she was losing. At least it helped with losing the excess of weight she had put on from the pregnancy. Plus, she kept the children fed, that was all that mattered. They were thin, luckily for her as it meant it took less fabric to make their clothing. But she knew being thin didn't come naturally to ogres, Fiona tried not to dwell on how unhealthy they most probably were. They were getting old enough to become concerned when she cried, so she did her best to ignore everything that would make her upset. Except they were also getting old enough to speak, tell her they were hungry, tell her they were too cold or too hot, tell her they were uncomfortable, or bored. Everything she could do nothing about.

They grew, quickly. The bed the four of them shared was too small, but she had no choice. For one, it was a human bed, had the four of them been human, they would have probably fit just fine. She recycled their baby clothes and made patchwork quilts and pillows for each of them. Using the original bed sheets and pillow for herself, as it was beginning to look like she would have to take the floor as her new sleeping arrangement. She considered asking for a new bed, she could claim hers had broken. But she decided against it. It may encourage him to visit again… Fiona wasn't sure whether she wanted him to come or not, she toyed with the idea increasingly more as they got older.

One night, before the weekly provisions arrived, Fiona sat at the desk, quill hovering over the paper as she thought about what to write. She looked over to her children, they slept. A small, sad smile crept upon her lips, it hit her all over again that this was their life. This room. Despite realising it every day it still crushed her. She turned her gaze to the partially chalk covered wall, they were three. The first three years of their life had been spent in one room. As she had concluded before, it didn't matter back then. When they could barely talk or walk. When all they would have needed outside of the tower was her and her love anyway. Now though, they were starting to take interest in looking out the window, starting to get curious and ask questions. Questions she knew would only grow more complex, they would turn into questions she wouldn't be able to answer. She looked back down to the blank paper. He needed to see. He needed to see what their lives were like. They were old enough now to protest her absence. She knew if she ever left their sight they would panic, they would scream and cry for her. No one could remove them from her life now. Before she could properly think about the idea, she wrote it down. An invitation.

She waited, looking out of the window at every opportunity. No one came.

It had almost been two years since he last visited. Perhaps he had forgotten about her. No, he wouldn't have, she thought with resolve. Though she worried how long he was planning to keep her, he wondered what he'd do with them afterwards. Would she be put in a dungeon, would he try to separate her from the children? Her thoughts went back to her loved ones she left in the dungeon. She could only hope they were still there or set free. She hoped that they never attempted to escape or overthrow him, because surely if they succeeded they'd come for her. Their lacking presence made her believe that they either failed or they didn't try. And if they had failed, she didn't want to think about their punishment. Maybe they did escape, overthrow him, and that's why he never came back. But they didn't know where she was, perhaps they thought she was dead. That meant she'd be stuck there forever. Though she had put much thought into that situation. Once the children were old enough, they would escape. The four of them would definitely be able to break the door down, they would be able to escape with ease, but not while they were so young. The thought of losing any one of them, and considering how real that situation was nearly brought her to tears. She would wait, like she had spent so many years of her life waiting. But not for someone to rescue them, for them to be able to rescue themselves.

. . .

Fiona spent most of her spare time watching the children. They consumed her whole life, they were all she had. Surprisingly they did make her happy, they kept a smile on her face most times. She couldn't count the amount of times she had cried before, when she was changing with the sun, waiting for a rescuer. She couldn't count the amount of times she cried before the triplets were born for everything that happened to her, for Shrek. She didn't cry so much now, she smiled much more, they saw to that every single day. She saw Shrek in them. Fiona was so happy the boys got his eyes. She only hoped genetics would run true and they would inherit his brave spirit too. She missed him. She missed him every single day. Some days when the children were more demanding, she would only think of him a little. On other days, her heart felt so heavy it took considerable effort just to go about her normal daily routine. Fiona told them stories about their Father, stories she had experienced by his side, and those he had told her. She didn't have much experience outside of the tower, but her husband did. He would tell her about how he came to find what turned into their home, all the journeys up until that point, and all of them afterwards. She relayed all she could remember to the children, she hoped they would never tire of hearing them. She called him Daddy to them, and that's how they eventually referred to him. It brought tears to her eyes when they first asked her to tell them stories about Daddy. She could only hope she was telling them right. They never seemed right when she told them, without his jokes, his added commentary. Yet she told them as best she could. It made them excited, brought sparkles to their eyes, that was all that mattered.

There was more she was insecure about, things that hadn't even occurred to her until she started telling the stories. Shrek's stories mainly revolved around scaring villagers or hunting parties, roaring in their faces, making them run away. Or they were about finding different creatures, going exploring to find different obscure ingredients for dishes he wanted to try out. They were very ogre stories. The children had already began to ask why her stories were different to the ones in the books, or why they were different to the people in the pictures. She tried her best to instil pride in them, make them happy about who they were. Of course they responded well, they had no reason not to, they'd never met another living person, let alone someone of a different species. She hoped this would do them favours for the future. But if they ever did get out, Fiona wasn't very experienced at being an ogre. She didn't know all of the food to make, all of the day-to-day living habits. Shrek had been a good teacher, she enjoyed being with him, living as an ogress with him, but that'd been for very long. Then they travelled to Far Far Away and had to fit as best they could into a human castle and a very human way of life. It had been much easier for her, it was how she had been brought up. But that wasn't how she wanted to bring her children up. She had previously looked forward to give her children an upbringing as ogres, but Shrek would have been the main teacher. She knew what people would say, if she had anyone to ask. They would tell her to do what comes naturally, to bring them up in the way that made the most sense to her. Perhaps she'd experiment, she could create her own traditions, it wasn't like they had any comparisons. But still, it upset her to think about what they were missing out on without their Father to teach them. Instead they'd have a half-ogre, half-human Mother, who could only do her best.

She wondered if she'd ever love or marry again. She was young, she had plenty of years left to have a life with someone. But the biggest question was whether she'd ever want to. A life without Shrek didn't seem possible to her, not outside of the tower. A life with someone else? She couldn't imagine that to ever be the case. All she wanted, all she wished for was to be with him again. But that couldn't happen. In truth, Fiona hated to admit, but she was a little scared if Charming let them free, to go home. She couldn't bear to think about their little home without him. In the tower, he was never there, and never would be, it was very different. Back in the swamp, his presence would be missed everywhere. And yet she wanted to be there more than anything. She wanted their children to see the swamp, she wanted it to be their home, she wanted them to have that life, whatever it ended up being. But it would only end up leaving her to wonder how long it would be whenever she went to draw the end of another day on their wall.

She carefully marked each day with the tiniest of lines possible from the day they were born just so she knew how old they were, so she knew what day was their birthday. She had no calendar, no way to know exactly when in the year it was, she could only just about see the changing seasons from where the grey spiralling clouds ended. Their birthdays broke her heart, worse every one they had, as they grew more aware of what it meant. Fiona so desperately wanted to make it special, give them something special, do anything that wasn't what they did every single day. When they were sleeping she would make woollen decorations and draw out banners for them on what meagre paper supplies she had. She would carefully wrap three books she would quietly dig out from under the bed in cloth, trying her best to make it look somewhat like a present. Though before she herself followed them to sleep she would look around the room and feel the disappointment wash over her. That she couldn't do more. Yet when the children woke the next morning they were ever so excited by her efforts. When children had nothing, they appreciated everything, no matter how tiny. For that she was both thankful and saddened. They had asked once about her own birthday, she brushed it off as unimportant. Being so young, they accepted her answer. In truth Fiona didn't know when it was, she knew when it entered the season her birthday would come in, and knew when the season was over and it was gone. She didn't know the exact date of the children's birthday, she only knew when 365 days had passed since their last. Four and a half years' worth of tiny little white chalk lines almost covered the whole wall.

Going to that wall had meant she did have to touch the tapestry, and she did so with great disgust. They were tiny week old babies who cried through every night when she had plucked up the courage to do it. It brought her a surprising amount of pleasure to tear it to shreds, she found herself feeling considerably calmer after doing so. She considered throwing it all out of the window, though it wasn't heavy enough to reach the lava. They would probably float along in the breeze and land haphazardly around the Keep, she didn't like how peaceful it sounded, nor did she want Charming to find that. Instead she decided to keep the tatters. They were now residing inside pillow cases, and used as stuffing inside toys.

. . .

It was a normal day, much like all their previous days when the question she had been dreading finally came. She had been telling them about the forest around the swampland she had ventured into with Shrek a few times before they headed out to Far Far Away. She spoke about the grass and the stony paths, and the way the leaves looked in the sunlight. She showed them pictures from books of what it looked like, she let them stand at the window and pointed out to where different forestland and trees would be past the edge of the volcano. She had finished her story, was preparing what little they each had for lunch, leaving them to look at the pictures.

"Momma?"

"Yes, Honey?"

"Will we go outside one day?"

The question had hit her like a ton of bricks. Fiona struggled not to cry. She was thankful she had her back turned to them as she furiously blinked back her emotion.

"Yeah! I wanna be like the pictures, Mommy!"

"Will Daddy be there?"

Eventually a single tear fell, landing on the surface she had braced her arms against, "I-uh-he…"

And yet as if the question had just prompted fate, the sound of carriage wheels rolling closer caught all of their attention. She furiously wiped her eyes and joined the three bunched up at the window.

"There are people, Momma," were their hushed words, they pointed fearfully. Fiona peered over their shoulders, it was him. She pulled them away, reassuring them, everything was fine. They'd go away. Just like they'd done before. He never ventured into the keep. Just stared for a moment. She didn't think he saw her watching. Though it was difficult for her to miss. When someone lives with the same thing day in day out, same sights, same sounds, it's easy to tell when something's different. They were never quiet with their ventures either. Surely he knew her hearing far excelled his own. Perhaps he didn't. Charming probably didn't know anything.

They sat on the bed behind her, clinging to her as she watched out the window, as close as she dared to get. Fiona followed him with her eyes as he strolled to the lava moat, he glanced up at the window, she ducked a little, and then shot the arrow across. As he effortlessly skimmed over the ominous pit he didn't move his gaze from her window. It made her a little paranoid he had seen her. Yet as he slowly approached, he held his hand up to see better, just as he had done every other time.

"Momma? Is he gone?" whispers came from behind her.

"Not yet, Honey," she turned to them, "Almost. He'll leave us alone again." She gave them what she hoped was a reassuring smile. They didn't smile back, their little faces frozen in concern. She looked back out the window, expecting to see him turning away, going back to his men, as usual. But he was gone. Fiona frantically jumped up, standing right at the window, searching the empty scene below her. If he wasn't turning back, the rope still secure across the lava pit, it only meant he had gone in.

"Is he gone?" the question was repeated.

Her eyes searched for him, he couldn't have gone in, there was no way. He hadn't brought anyone with him. What was he going to do? He had a sword, she vaguely recalled, her thoughts were frenzied in panic. But he was alone, wasn't he? She was sure he had left his men as he had before. He couldn't harm them, she reassured herself, he wouldn't be able to overpower her. At least she thought so. It had been so long since she'd practiced anything forceful, she had lost weight, she felt weaker than she was before. But he surely wouldn't match an ogre, would he? She felt a small tugging at her dress, prompting her for an answer.

The ogress took a deep breath, "No," she forced cheer into her voice, "But he will go, soon."

They were then at her side, holding onto her, "I'm scared, Momma."

She desperately wanted to hug them, but she daren't move her eyes, in case she missed him.

"There's no need, he can't hurt you, I won't let him."

Silence. They weren't silent often, not at all really.

It wasn't too long before she realised her attention was in the wrong place. There were footsteps, steady and slow, the occasional clatter and scrape. He was on the stairs. She turned, moving her wide gaze to the door.

"What's that noise?"

"Mommy, what is it?"

"I'm scared."

There was the book on the bed, it was heavy, thick and leather bound. It was something. If necessary she could dislodge a torch from the wall too. There were plenty of potential weapons in the room should she need them, she told herself. She closed her eyes for a second, taking a breath. She had to calm herself, for them.

Fiona opened her eyes and crouched down to their level, they were close to tears, she forced a smile. She watched their little expectant faces, fingers in mouths, runny noses, teary eyes, her smile widened genuinely, "I love you," she spoke softly. They didn't respond, she ushered them onto the bed, they clung to her. "Stay close to me, okay?" she whispered their instructions, "And do everything I say." She mentally prepared herself for what might happen. She'd tell them to stand behind the bed if she had to stand, and if he drew his sword, they would hide under the bed. It was strong, they wouldn't get hurt there. Besides, it was closed off with decorative woodwork where they would have been exposed to Charming, it seemed the smartest option, she hoped she was right. No, she hoped it wouldn't come to that.

"It's okay, it'll be okay," she shushed their whimpers.

She could feel them trembling in her arms as they listened to the echoey footsteps grow louder, nearer. She pulled them tighter, changing her mind suddenly. She didn't want him to come. She wanted him to turn around and leave them be. A dungeon wouldn't be better than this. Escaping and running wouldn't be better than this. The only thing that would be better than their current situation would be to go back home, to the swamp. But considering everything, the crown still sat firmly on Charming's head, it didn't look like that was about to happen. How much of an idiot had she been inviting him up to the tower. They were better off waiting, carrying out her escape plan years later.

"Make it go away, Momma, I don't like it," they were whispering their fear at her. It almost hurt to hear their panic. She couldn't do anything. She couldn't control what he was going to do. She had no control of the situation at all. And yet she kept telling them it would be okay.

"The door!"

He was outside, right outside their door. Their panic grew more frantic, as did her reassurances.

"Stay quiet," she whispered at them just as he slotted the key into the door. They did immediately as they were told, breaking into sudden silence. Their little hands were holding onto her so hard it was pinching her skin. They all flinched as the key grated against the lock as he twisted it open. As the noise ended all Fiona could hear was her heartbeat, loud in her ears. She held her breath, the children had stopped trembling in her arms. She briefly looked at them, their ears alert, eyes wide, waiting for their first glimpse of someone else.

She heard his hand take the door handle, he paused, adjusting his grip. With sudden speed he threw open their door, it made her jump, as did the children. They shrunk against her. She forced herself to sit upright, setting her mouth in a firm line. Yet as soon as her eyes locked with his, her fear melted away, her gaze hardened and the anger came flooding back as if completely uninterrupted.

. . .

A/N: And for those who have only read the first five chapters may now go read the rest.

Sorry if this seemed a little disjointed in places, I was adding in different paragraphs here and there the whole way through writing it. Yay for not writing in chronological order.

I was so nervous about uploading this, I don't even know why. So I hope you liked! R&R!