Still in my inbox: fulfilling requests for a Lacie drabble or head canon in honor of her birthday.
Sometimes, Lacie would look over at her brother when he is off in his own thoughts: head downcast, eyes staring somewhat on the ground before him, sometimes bumping headlong into busy maids or the guards on patrol as he wandered, mumbling a quick apology before cutting past them—-
—- and all she can think is, “How? How can he?”
Moments like this, when he’d look for a book in the library, only to find it on his desk hours later, or how he’d cover her hastily with his cape as they dashed back to the manor because he forgot to bring an umbrella although the overhead clouds predicted rain….
During these moments, she could not help but wonder: "How can a person like Oswald tear me limb from limb? What inside him is able to be so foolish and so cruel? This man who’d wear cravats that don’t match his vest if the maids didn’t pick out his clothes every morning?"
So she asked him one night, when she was feeling particularly morbid and dour and Oswald was drifting off before the fireplace:
"Do you ever dream of me in pieces, brother?"
"Wha?" Oswald sat up, blinking sleep from his eyes. A glance to the mantle clock. "I should get you back to the Tower—"
Lacie tugged at his sleeve, pulling him down beside her on the rug. “Do you care?” she said, letting accusation slip onto her tongue. “Or I am another mindless task you need to get done?”
"What are you talking about?" Oswald snapped (he was always cranky upon waking and Lacie took advantage of this). "We’ll get in trouble if you’re not back by first watch—"
"I don’t care if I get in trouble! Yet if that’s the only worry you have, then I can take myself to the Tower without you."
"Hold on." Oswald took her arms, and that confused expression — a look she despised, a face that read, "sheep, sheep, sheep,” in her mind, and she hated Oswald suddenly, for being so kind and so bumbling and so obedient when it came to what he was supposed to do.
"You can’t go yourself."
"Because I’ll run away again? Because Glen would scold you for being an irresponsible older brother, for not doing your duty?”
"Well, no, because…" he fumbled with his hands at his knees as he knelt beside her, an adorable gesture in any other light if it hadn’t represented to Lacie how much of a mindless twit he was. "I like doing it," he blurted out. "I… I like our routines. Of us saying good-night. By the Tower." He paused. "Does that annoy you?"
Lacie sighed. Oswald — he could be so dense sometimes. He’d never understand her fear, her horror, her loneliness. But he loved her and he appreciated the little things. Like good-night walks. The hate slowly seeped out, replaced by a tender resignation at her brother’s spaciness.
"No," she said and linked her arm in his. A small part of her was glad that Oswald was this way. If he had been more perceptive about her as she was about him, maybe his duties would eventually drive him mad. And she didn’t want that for Oswald; that would be such a waste of her life if her brother lost his mind over her.
"I’m sorry I was cross," she said, leaning her head against his shoulder. "Let’s hurry now, before the guards notice."