Title: Of Noble Blood

Author: Elfpen

Summary: After a certain political meeting goes awry, Horace is left struggling with his family origins. As always, Cassandra is there to help him along as he tries to prove himself among Araluen's nobles. Oneshot. Horace/Cassandra.

A/N: In my research for my other fic, 'Revenge', I came across a certain part of RA book 1 that made me all sad for Horace (listed below) and I started trying for a oneshot. Then, inspiration came from an extremely unexpected source: Agatha Christie's Poirot. My dad loves the old TV series, and while watching an episode with him, I got a strange inspiration for this fic. So, here ya go. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Ranger's Apprentice Series and all characters therein Copyright © John Flanagan

In other words, I'm just playing around in someone else's sandbox.

Excerpt from 'Ruins of Gorlan' by John Flanagan

"Crying, are you, Baby?" he heard Jerome yell. "Go home and cry to Mummy then!"

His foot shoved viciously into Horace's back, sending him sprawling on the floor.

"Baby doesn't have a mummy," Alda said. "Baby's a Ward brat. Mummy ran off with a riverboat sailor."

Jerome bent down to him again. "Is that right, Baby?" he hissed. "Did Mummy run away and leave you?"

"My mother is dead," Horace grated at them. Angrily, he began to rise, but Jerome's foot was on the back of his neck, thrusting his face against the hard boards. Horace gave up the attempt.

Horace was a very capable young knight. In fact, it wouldn't be a far venture to say that he was the most capable and foremost knight in the entire kingdom. This, among other reasons, was why he'd risen so far in rank so quickly.

His superiors found his adeptness in battle and strategy promising, and any man would be hard-pressed to find a man with a truer character than Horace. However, the young knight in question was rather oblivious to the excessive praise. It was, in his eyes, just a part of growing as a warrior. He naturally showed deference to all knights older and more experienced than he, and seemed to forget very often that he outranked a great many of his seniors.

However, overall, Horace was known in the higher-up circles for his loyalty, his capability, and his sensibility. It was perhaps this respect from the upper courts and the Royal family itself that soon drew Horace up into the life of the court, with all its politics and duties and responsibilities. Another possible reason, however, was his close relationship with Princess Cassandra.

He and Cassandra had begun seeing each other quite often after he was stationed at Castle Araluen. After two years away training with the renown swordsmaster MacNeil, Horace had returned to the capitol as a very capable young knight, and, being welcome in the court, had reignited the initial friendship that he shared with the Princess. Over the years following, they'd grown very close, and it was no doubt in anyone's mind that Horace would be one of the Future Queen's closest advisers. There was some rumor of romantic matters between them, but Horace acted as such a chivalrous gentleman that no one could quite make out their relationship.

They continued as very good friends in the public eye for some time, and then the gossip of romance sprung up once again when, on Cassandra's twenty-second birthday, she appointed Horace as her Champion. He took the role in stride, but became quite flustered by the sudden attention from the public. He often confided in her his discomfort of such speculation and scrutiny. She attempted to console him, but inside found it quite endearing that Horace would be so opposed to attention. She knew plenty of young knights who would have simply bathed in the attention that Horace received. This young knight, however, would much rather go out and have a good spar with a close friend than listen to all the babble and questions that everyone posed for him.

With his prestigious title and popularity with the King and his advisers, Horace soon found himself involved in much more diplomatic and political matters than he was used to. For however much he denounced politics and back-stabbing, he soon found that he put a great deal of time trying to sort out all of the messes he found himself in. Because, whether he would admit or not, he cared. He cared whether or not a knight's reputation was ruined because of some nobleman's attempt of under-handed revenge. He didn't like to see a close friend commit political suicide on a silly whim. And so, he found his own way to help. A diplomat he wasn't, but he could be the best friend a man could ask for.

King Duncan in particular found his direct, no-nonsense approach to politics extremely refreshing. As king of an entire nation, underhand politics and subtlety were an unavoidable part of his everyday life. However, as he began to work more closely with Horace, he found himself marveling how the young knight took the most tangled-up, complicated political scandals and boiled them down to create simple, common-sense solutions. Horace would make a fine leader, he was sure. But would Horace want to be a leader? That was the real question.

As he had the thought, a knock sounded on his office door.

"I'll get it, daddy." Cassandra said from her nearby seat, where she had been reading a book.

"Hello, Horace!" She said warmly, grasping his hand briefly in affection as he entered the room. He smiled at her, then turned towards where Duncan was sitting at his large oak desk.

"You wanted to see me, your Majesty?"

Despite the fact that Duncan had told Horace multiple times that 'Sir' would suffice, the knight continued on to use the King's official title. Duncan smiled slightly at the fact.

"Yes," he said, "I was hoping you'd join Cassie and I today in a meeting – we're speaking to the steward of Canterby Fief this afternoon." He paused to let the knight comment. Horace remained silent, so the king carried on.

"The Lord of Canterby recently instituted a new Ward system very similar to that in Redmont." Duncan gestured meaningfully. "However, the entire system was not even a year old before the Baron died unexpectedly." Duncan's eyes darkened, and Horace got the feeling that he had known the Baron well. "He had no children, and his unexpected death left no time to appoint a successor. Usually in such a situation, the Steward would take over control of the fief until a successor could be chosen by the fief nobles and myself. However," Duncan paused for a moment,

"The present steward finds the idea of the growing Ward very… Offensive." The king picked his words carefully. "He seems to think that it eats up too much of the castle coffers. Unfortunately, if he were to abolish the system now, the wards staying there – over fifty of them – would be on the streets and the entire staff would be out of work. Canterby is not a very large fief, and it could spell economic disaster. The fief's ranger – you may know him – Meralon,"

Horace's eyebrows came down like thunderclouds. Oh. Him.

Duncan nodded. "I thought as much. Meralon has tried several times to persuade the Steward otherwise, but he was unable to do so. I sent out a summons for him a week ago to sort out all this mess, and we will be meeting later today." The king paused to let this information sink in, and then drew breath again. "Considering your personal knowledge of how the Ward system in Redmont fief works, I hoped that you would join us and try and talk some sense into this clearly deranged steward." He finished.

"I'd be glad to accompany you, my Lord." Horace said, and then added thoughtfully, "But, if you don't mind my asking, why can't you just order him not to interfere with the Ward and get on with it?" He had to ask.

Duncan smiled slightly at Horace's straightforwardness, but then sighed. "I wish I could. Unfortunately, I can only give direct orders where the law of the kingdom is concerned – if he were to personally encroach on my reign or authority. A Ward is, in all actuality, an institution separate from the National Law and thus, my Rule - it is subject to the sole decision of the resident Baron and his court. So no, I cannot directly order him to keep the Ward untouched. However," He let a smile creep over his face, "I can offer heavy persuasion. And you," He looked Horace in the eye, "Can hopefully get him to see the reasonableness of the entire thing."

Horace nodded. "I'll try, Your Majesty."

Ducan nodded at him. "That's what I wanted to hear. Report back here at four o'clock this afternoon."

Unfortunately, the last thing that the steward wanted to see was reason. So far, Horace hadn't gotten a word in edgewise. Duncan himself was having trouble talking to the seething man, and Cassie couldn't find anything to say that would stop the steward's tirade.

"I am quite certain this decision is up to me…" The little, balding man was saying. Horace regarded him with some irk, annoyed that the man wouldn't stop blabbering and also offended that he was repeatedly talking over the King of Araluen. As a knight of the Royal Guard, Horace felt it was his duty to defend his King both in battle and in dignity, but Horace couldn't find a way to stop this man – he just wouldn't shut his mouth.

"And I'm sure you know that the implementation of a Ward is completely optional to the fief's upper council and the Baron – or Steward as the case may be -"

His appearance said a great deal. Despite the fact that he was only a steward, this man was dressed nearly as extravagantly as Duncan would dress on state occasions. He held his head high, and his voice dripped with an arrogant lilt. When a humbly dressed, peasant-born serving girl came in to serve the four a tray of tea, he had shooed at her to leave almost as soon as she'd entered. He sent disapproving glances at the plainly dressed lower-rank knights guarding the doors. He also seemed to esteem himself much higher than he ought. All in all, he was the definition of 'pompous'.

"And I really do not see how any of this is of your concern-"

"Terence," Duncan burst in suddenly, breaking off whatever the man was going to say. The king was a little more than irritated. "The state of my fiefdoms is always a subject of my concern." He pronounced clearly. "Now. I have tried to ask you in civil terms, but now I will ask you outright: Why does the Ward system seem unbeneficial to Canterby fief? What reason do you have to abolish it?"

"It absorbs a considerable amount of our money, M'Lord."

"Oh really. How much?"

Terence was suddenly flustered. "Uh, well… ah…. A considerable amount, your Majesty."

"Terence," The king leaned forward slightly. "I receive a report on all fief treasuries regularly. The Barony of Canterby is more than wealthy enough to afford a Ward, and I believe that the institution should be left as it is. It is an honorable, beneficial addition to the functions of the Castle."

"Beneficial?" Terence spat out the words in disgust, "How is a Ward 'beneficial'?"

Horace's eyes darted to glare at the man, hardly believing what he was hearing. From across the table, Cassandra watched her friend with disease. This entire meeting had been uncomfortable from the start, but this aloof steward was making it worse by the minute. Horace hadn't yet gotten the chance to explain his opinion on the matter, or the fact that he had been raised in Redmont's Ward. The only thing he'd said to the man was his name and title when they'd been introduced, before Terence broke off on his ranting. Cassandra glanced at how oblivious Terence was now. Oh, this could only grow worse.

Duncan noticed Horace's reaction, but fought to not look at the other man. "How?" He repeated the question to the steward. "It gives hope to children who would otherwise be left on the streets. It helps them gain a place in a world that they would otherwise be excluded from. It gives them the chance to become greater than their unfortunate circumstances."

The words that Duncan used were words that Cassandra had heard before. Her father had been a very strong supporter when Baron Arald first instituted the Ward in Redmont years ago, and a few Wards in other fiefs before that. He regarded Ward institutions highly.

"Greater!" Terence spat out again. Cassandra was growing uncomfortable with how presumptuous and disrespectful this man was acting. "Great? How could any one of those brats become great?"

Cassandra's eyes widened. Horace gripped his fists together so tightly his knuckles shone white. Only Duncan showed no reaction, and that took a great effort on his part.

"Every one of them has shown nothing but what they came from – filth." The man continued, oblivious to the rage building inside of the man sitting adjacent to him. "They'll never be anything else. They're hopeless, all of them. The only good you could do for them is to send them to work at the farms – at least then they'd be doing something productive."

Cassandra had never seen Horace so furious in all the time she'd known him.

"All the Ward does is give the street rats a place to gather – it doesn't actually do anything worth doing! You might as well let them live off the streets – they're just god-forsaken peasant spawn whose parents couldn't even keep themselves alive! There's not a drop of noble blood in them - They'll never become great!"

At that comment, Duncan finally looked over at Horace. The knight was practically shaking with restrained anger.

"They're just brainless, hopeless orphan brats!"

"Your Majesty." Horace stood very suddenly and loudly, knocking his chair over in the process. He avoided eye contact with all of them. "I apologize," He gritted out through a tightly clenched jaw, "but I must go." He left the room in a hurry, wishing to be out of there. If he stayed in the room with that man any longer, he'd strangle him.

Terence watched him go, and scoffed. "An awfully rude knight. Why was he even here, anyway?" He asked pompously.

Cassandra had had enough. She could only look at him in astonishment. "Father," she said quietly to Duncan, her tone infinitely more diplomatic that Horace had been, "Excuse me for a moment." She rose with trained poise and steadiness, before calmly walking towards the door and leaving quietly. Only Duncan could see the fury rippling beneath the surface.

Terence looked utterly stumped at the Princess' odd behavior. Smartly, he did not saying anything about it, but the sneer of distaste on his face said it all.

"Terence," The king's voice was dangerously low, "I hope you realize what you've just done."

Taken aback by the threatening tone, the Steward looked back at his king, baffled.

"That 'rude knight', as you've so called him, is Sir Horace, the Oakleaf Knight. He is my daughter's Champion, a personal friend of mine, and, as it so happens," The steward shrunk back from Duncan's glare, "he was raised in the Ward at Redmont. He was here to give you his personal opinion of fief Wards."

Terence said nothing, but the look of horror on his face could not be hidden with any amount of effort.

"Suffice to say: You've acted out against me, my family, and my personal allies in a completely unacceptable manner. As I said, I do hope you know what you've done for yourself." The king rose, and out of habit, the Steward rose with him, in hasty respect.

"Terence Hayweather, you are stripped of your title and duties as of this moment forward. Your replacement will be appointed promptly, and you are banished from Castle Canterby henceforth." Duncan said with power. The knights who had been standing by the door came forward to stand on either side of Terence.

"See to it that this man obeys orders." Duncan told the nights. They answered obediently.

Terence tried to stutter a protest, but he realized, with some terror, that he couldn't possibly oppose the king. Furthermore, that he had just made a personal enemy of the king, his daughter – the future queen, and the future queen's Champion. He paled. His jaw quivered at the thought.

"No get out of my sight." Duncan finished with an edge.

Terence took one look at those dangerous green eyes, and did just as he was told.

Cassandra found him standing out on one of the upper balconies. He was hunched over to lean on the railing, his slouched form illuminated dimly in the light of dusk. She approached him carefully.

"Horace?" She called softly, coming close enough to lay a concerned hand on his arm. When he made no response, she drew closer. "Horace, are you alright?" She asked him.

He said nothing.

She sighed. "Horace, I'm so sorry. I didn't know – father didn't know – that he was so… So horrible. If I had known… Oh, I-I should have told him that you were from Redmont and that you-"

"No, Cassie, don't." Horace turned to her, his voice no devoid of the anger it held earlier, replaced now by a deep sadness. "It's not your fault, or your father's fault. It's his fault." He sighed. "It's just that…" Horace sighed, trying to gather his thoughts. He absently took one of Cassandra's hands in his own, and then turned towards her, his brow furrowed in a deep, sad confusion. "How could anyone be so heartless?" Horace asked.

She looked up at him for a moment, and then had to shake her head. "I don't know, Horace."

"I mean…" He started, "What if… What if Baron Arald had thought that way? I wouldn't be here. Will wouldn't be in the Corps. Alyss wouldn't be in the Service. For that matter, most of us wouldn't even be alive right now. How could he not see that kind of thing?" Horace asked. "It's… It's not as if I chose to be an orphan – and my parents weren't idiots, either." Horace seemed almost close to tears. "My mother was doing all she could when she-" He stopped talking suddenly, feeling that he had said too much. He clenched his jaw tightly, turning his gaze away. Cassie got the feeling that the meeting that day had hit a vulnerable spot for her friend. She grasped his hand, and after a moment, put her other hand gently to his cheek and brought his face back around to look at her.

"I know that, Horace. My father knows that. We all know that – this idiot Terence is a minority."

Horace closed his eyes with a sigh. "I know. I'm sorry, Cassie, it's just…" He opened his eyes and shook his head, leaning his cheek into her touch slightly. "The Ward gave me every hope that I wouldn't have had otherwise. And I'm not going to let some pompous idiot crush the chances of those who can't help what's happened to them. Because titles and ranks aside, Cassie… I'm just one of them." He looked her in the eye. "Not a drop of noble blood in me."

Cassandra looked at him, studying. She shook her head. "Blood has absolutely nothing to do with it, Horace," she said quietly, so that he had to lean in to hear her, "Because you are the noblest man I know." With that, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, hiding the tear that ran down her face against his tunic. As she did, he did the same without a second's hesitation. They stayed there for a long moment, before Cassandra murmured into his vest,

"What was it like?"

"What?" he asked in confusion.

"In the Ward, I mean," she explained. "What was it like growing up there?"

Horace shrugged. "Well, hard to say. I went there when I was very young, so I don't really remember much else besides the Ward. I remember my mother somewhat… She died of a sickness when I was about three."

Cassandra listened in silence. Horace was possibly her closest friend, but she'd never heard of his childhood before, and she paid attention to every detail given.

"When I got there, Will and Alyss were the only two others in my year class."

Cassandra frowned, and propped her chin up on his chest to look at him. "You, Will and Alyss were all in the same year?" She asked.

He looked curiously down at her, and nodded. "Yes. You didn't know that?"

She blinked at him. It was logical, of course, but she'd never thought of it. "No, actually." A thought hit her. "So, you and Will have always been friends?" She surmised. Since she'd known the two since they met in their mid-teens, and Will and Horace had always been the best of friends. Now, she was surprised to hear Horace's bark of laughter.

"Will and I, growing up? Best friends? Oh dear heavens, no." He chuckled again at her puzzled look, and he smiled, remembering the days spent tormenting Will when they were still in their awkward preteen years. "We hated each other's guts." Horace surmised for her. "I used to beat him up all the time. I was a right bully back then – and he just couldn't keep his mouth shut." Horace was going off on a tangent of memory, and Cassandra was eager to hear of this untold rivalry between Will and Horace.

"Oh really?" She said interestedly.

He nodded. "Indeed. We couldn't stand the sight of each other. We got in trouble more than once for beating each other to a pulp – usually I was the one doing the beating, really. He'd tease me or insult me for some reason or other, and I'd go off and pound him for it. Occasionally, it worked the other way around. The whole thing was rather childish, really, but after we'd both grown up a little, we were able to make amends. After the incident with boar, we were finally able to get along and well…" He looked down at her. "The rest is history."

She smile up at him. "History indeed. Two of the noblest men I know going down in the history books for all their heroic deeds." He blushed at the praise, and she looked at him for a moment, and then said: "You don't need to worry about that Ward, Horace," She told him kindly, "my father will take care of it, I'm sure." She smiled at him.

He nodded calmly. "Your father is a good king, Cassie; and a good man."

She nodded slowly, looking away thoughtfully for a moment. Then, she turned her eyes back to him, an odd look on her face. "I'm quite sure that he'd say the same about you, Horace." She told him, and after a moment, moved her hand behind his neck, brought his face down to hers, and kissed him.

Hiding in the shadows not too far away, Duncan looked away to give the two privacy. He had to admit that what his daughter said was true. Horace was a good man, and a good knight. He had square head on his shoulders, was more capable than perhaps any other knight Duncan knew, and most importantly, he had a true and honest character, with a compassionate heart.

Not for the first time, Duncan had to admit to himself that his daughter and her Champion made a very fitting team. He glanced discreetly over to where they were still standing together. He knew that Horace was destined for high rank and leadership, wherever he went. He could easily see him becoming an official battlemaster at castle Araluen, doubtless a valued advisor and counsel. He glanced at the knight again. And now, looking at how far the man had come and how far he would go, Duncan had to admit that Horace wouldn't make a very bad future king for Araluen. No, not very bad at all.

After all, as well as his daughter, Duncan knew that bloodlines had nothing to do with nobility. Horace was a living example of that.

A/N: Okay, so that was probably the sloppiest attempt at this story I could possibly come up with, but I couldn't find a proper way to fix it, so I'll just post it as-is. I hope you liked it, somehow. R&R, please!