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Arranged Melancholia	By : Seductress Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Savage Garden Views: 2268 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Savage Garden. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN DARREN HAYES, DANIEL JONES, OR THEIR PARENTS. I DO NOT CLAIM THIS STORY TO BE TRUE. IT IS COMPLETELY FICTION.
I ALSO DO NOT OWN WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE OR HIS LITERATURE. SO PLEASE DON’T SUE ME, BECAUSE I HAVE NOTHING. I AM POOR

Please note that this story is entirely AU. My AU world is a place where men can bear children. The “gender” so to speak is not based upon the sex of a person, but their masculinity and femininity. A feminine man can bear a child, but a masculine man cannot. This concept also applies to women. Feminine women can bear children, but masculine women cannot. Note however that although men can bear children, they are not known as “Mom”, but “Daz”, a name I do not own. It belongs to Darren Hayes. Also note that even though there are feminine men, they do not wear dresses, simply because the whole man/woman thing doesn’t apply, so they need not desire to be a woman, if they already sort of are. I know it sounds strange, but yes, there can be relationships that are male/female wherein the male bears the child and the female cannot. With this in mind, may I introduce my newest fic, “Arranged Melancholia”.

Arranged Melancholia
England 1575

Christine Jones walked from stand to stand at the central marketplace. She was great with her firstborn child and longing for a fresh baked indulgence. Under normal circumstances, she would have sent a servant to fetch what she desired, but today was different. The day was beautiful and she did not know exactly what she craved, and probably would not, unless she were to smell it. These were delicate times for her. She would soon have a child and she was eager for said child to arrive. Someone of noble blood as she and carrying a child should not have been alone. Christine however, was no ordinary baroness. She liked to have things her way at any cost, but was also a fair woman. She continued down the beaten path, occasionally stopping to try a new treat. Then she smelled them; fresh cinnamon rolls. Nothing teased her senses such as these. She began to cross the street.
At this same moment, a horse was frightened by something, likely a bee, and the rider lost control. The great beast lunged at Christine and would surely have killed her, had she not been swept from its path by an unknown pair of hands. She turned to view her savior and found herself face to face with a mere peasant. This man had risked his life to save her, by by law she was duly indebted to him. He was entitled to anything he desired from her, because he gave her an irreplaceable gift; her life, and the life of her unborn child.
“Sir, pray tell, what is your name?”
“I am Robert Hayes,” he answered in a somewhat shy tone.
“I am forever grateful to you for saving my life, and the life of my unborn child. By law I am required to show you my gratitude by awarding you anything I possess. What is it you ask?”
“My Lady, I beg of you to allow me to go to my wife, so we may discuss the matter together,” he pleaded.
“But of course,” she answered politely.
“She is but down the way, I shall not linger there long.”
“Then I will wait for you here until you return, if your return is brisk.”
“You have my word,” he said and ran down the street to meet his wife. He made his way to their vegetable stand; the only source of their meager income.
“June? June!” He called to her out of breath.
“What is it, dear?”
“You will not believe our good fortune!”
“What is it you speak of,” she asked him suspiciously.
“I was on my way to fetch the milk you wanted, when I saw the baroness Jones about to be trampled by a runaway horse, so I ran into the street to save her. Couldn’t very well let her be killed, especially not with a baby on the way,” he finished.
“Did you ask anything of her yet?”
“No, I wanted to talk to you about it first”
“Well, why do we not ask for the betrothal of her firstborn to our firstborn?”
“But my dear, why?”
“Because I would like some opportunity for our children, should we have any, and money for us disappears; but for her, it’s always there. Imagine honey, our child a baron or baroness,” she said.
“You are forgetting one thing; we have no children,”
“Robert, we are still young, we may yet, we may yet.”
“Alright. I shall go and tell her,” he said and started back down the street. He reached the baroness and she looked at him expectantly.
“My wife and I have decided that you shall repay us with the betrothal of your firstborn to our firstborn,” he said, not breaking her gaze.
“Your wife is with child?”
“No, my Lady, but that is not to say she never will be,” he answered. The baroness saw opportunity. There was a chance that the lowly peasant couple may not be blessed with children.
“Done,” she replied, shaking his hand to seal the agreement. Tomorrow, a proper, legal document would come into existence. They parted.
Three weeks later, the baroness gave birth to a son named Hugh.
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Arranged Melancholia