julianwingfield-blog

[julianwingfield-blog]

Happy, Happy Birthday to BLACKWIDOWSREDLEDGER! I wish you great health and I hope you’re enjoying your day! -A

[julianwingfield-blog]

Julian is tucked away in the corner of the Great Hall with some of his fellow contemporaries, the group of them holding polite conversations amongst themselves as they eat their midday meal. Exhausted by the court’s senseless need to constantly deliberate on the High King’s attack, Julian welcomes this small talk with open arms. It seems as if everywhere he turns someone is conjuring up possible theories as to who is behind the attack. While Julian wanted to know who was behind the attack and have them face retribution, he preferred to know the answer once it was officially confirmed and avoid engaging in worthless court chatter. He didn’t enjoy discussing it into such extensive detail either; he had already lived it once and didn’t wish to live relive it again.

Julian was at the opposite side of the reception hall when Peter had collapsed, too preoccupied by his conversation with an old friend from Archenland to even bother returning to his seat so he could listen to Peter make his toast; wedding speeches were all the same to him anyway.

Despite not knowing that it was in fact Peter who was attacked (he heard someone scream the word poison, but had no notion as to who the victim was), he could sense a feeling of panic and grief fill his veins, his thoughts immediately concerned for his family’s safety. While many guests made haste to the nearest door, Julian raced towards the chaos. He eventually caught sight of Peter laying unconscious on the floor, his siblings circling him as well as a few others. In that very moment, seeing his friend, his High King, laying lifeless, Julian felt as if an iron fist had slammed into his stomach and throat at the same time; his breathing going heavy. He watched as the colour of life slowly began to fade from Peter’s face, and Julian remembers thinking he wouldn’t make it through the night. He stood there silently with his fists clenched, waiting for an opportunity for him to offer his assistance. He eventually does, as he was one of the few who was strong enough to help lift Peter, and carry him to the healers quarters. Julian had only remained in the room for a mere moment before he was quickly shooed out by the healers.

When Peter enters, the room immediately changes.

He turns around when he hears the small hush of silence fall over the crowd, his eyes widening out of disbelief when his gaze fixates on Peter. He doesn’t approach him right away, allowing him a moment to sit and find his bearings and show the world that he is a survivor. While Peter is in fact alive, and looks much better than he did on that ghastly night, Julian can’t help but note that he looks frail and... almost vulnerable? This notion quickly passes though, and Julian rises and makes his way to Peter, his arms pressed tightly together behind his back. When he reaches Peter, he lowers himself to the ground and bows. He doesn’t rise right away, allowing this moment to be engraved in everyone’s mind, to signify his respect and his undivided loyalty to his King. He wants to show Peter he isn’t alone, and that whatever direction he decides to go in, he will follow.

He rises, “You don’t know how relieved I am to see you so alive and well, Your Majesty.”

“It’s imperative that you remain in bed for the reminder of the day, your Majesty,” the healer continues to explain, a vague note of frustration outlining the statement. It is not the first time she’s had to say this.

“I understand that,” Peter says, because he did, “but you must understand that it’s equally, if not more, imperative that I do not do such a thing.”

“Your Majesty, if I may be blunt, you nearly died not even twenty-four hours ago.”

Not even twenty-four hours and Peter is already restless. “Yes, nearly died. But as your expert opinion has made clear, I shall make a full recovery.”

“Only if you get adequate rest, Sire.”

“I’ve been asleep for seventeen hours.” Give or take. In reality it is more like fifteen with two hours spent bathing or getting checked over by the healers. He’s been in and out of consciousness since the incident happened and, quite frankly, Peter is exhausted of being in bed.

“The poison has finally exited your body, your Majesty, now it is time to recuperate from the ordeal. Rest. Regain your strength.”

Peter knows he is not going to get anywhere with this and so he smiles, laying back. ���Of course. You are quite right. Forgive my impermanence; I am not used to being in bed this long.”

The healer nods, seeming to relax at that, and assures him that no offense was taken. After the healer checks over him once again (how many times must this happen? Surely nothing’s changed in two hours) she dismisses herself, reminding him to remain in bed. Thankfully it is his bed now. In the early morning he was able to transfer from the healers’ chambers to his own private ones since he was out of the worst of it all. Once the healer is gone, and seems to stay gone, Peter tosses aside the covers and steps out of bed. The fact of the matter is that he can’t remain in bed. People are leaving and, while Peter is certainly glad of that, he dislikes how much more urgent Susan made it. They all need to see how strong Peter remains, how unchanged, how undefeated. People cannot leave with such a weak impression of, not only him, but all of Narnia. The thought of people having such a view of Narnia makes him feel even more ill than the blasted poison had.

So, with the small water basin in his own chambers, Peter quickly washes up before dressing in his most noble-looking clothes that he knows will compliment himself. He needs to look powerful, indestructible. Indeed when he looks in the looking glass he certainly does look every inch the High King that he is, but there is also a certain…grayness to his skin. He looks like he survived death which, maybe, is a good thing. It proves that he suffered but came out even stronger for it.

Satisfied with his appearance, he begins to walk down to the Great Hall, taking the routes he knows to be the most common and, therefore, the most populated. His back remains pole straight, expression regal, as he walks. It is midday and people are gathering for the midday meal (the meal that often had the most number of people attend. Breakfast and dinner are more common for people to have private plans for, but the midday meal is one generally everyone attends in the Great Hall).

Once in the Great Hall a small hush fell over the crowd as his presence became known. Peter pretends not to notice this as he walks to the front of the Hall to the dais where he and his siblings, along with any visiting royalty, would sit. As he sits down, servants flutter about to get him a plate and water to drink. Quietly, graciously, he thanks them, before picking up the goblet. It’s not poisoned, he thinks as he notices himself hesitating, don’t be a damn coward. He takes a sip, swallowing then placing the cup aside, as he picks up the silverware to begin eating.

[julianwingfield-blog]

The Tudors (2007-2010)

[julianwingfield-blog]

Wingfield. His names runs through him like the blood runs through his veins. It had been a very long time since she has last called him that. She scrunches her nose at him, irritation washing over her face, which only adds to Julian’s amusement. He can hear the blades of her skates cut deep into the ice as she glides over to him, her strides being purposively slow. He waits though — in fact he’d always wait for her — and offers his hand out to her as she steps off the ice, making sure she doesn’t lose her balance from stepping off of the sheet of ice and onto the uneven patch of snow he’s standing on. 

Her next statement is stated so cooly and matter-of-factly that he is caught off guard by it, a small chuckle coming out from his mouth. “Oh, is that so? Must I remind you that I don't have a clumsy bone in my body.” he jests, agreeing with the likelihood of him falling flat on his face. He has only been skating a handful of times in his lifetime; he hated winter when he was younger, just as he did now, and made sure his time spent outside was limited. The last thing he wanted to do as a young child was to go skating. This thought causes a swarm of memories to wander into his head, the more prominent ones being his father scolding him for purposely avoiding their family’s annual Christmas festivities (majority of the events taking place outside rather than inside)  and would often punish him by supplying him with chores that involved being outside in the cold for a lengthy period of time; so long that he’d always return home chilled to the bone.

He is quickly brought back to reality at the mention of his own son, “Somewhat. I enjoy all the dinner parties that come with them, but the actual holidays on their own?” He looks down to the ground briefly, “Let us just say that I’ve had better years.” He is referring to the fact that they’ve spent the majority of their holidays separated; the harrowing moments of loneliness he encountered only acting as a cruel reminder of what he lost. “Eric, on the other hand, is enjoying his first Christmas tremendously. He loves to wobble around in the snow in his new boots. And what of you? Are you enjoying the holidays?” He smiles at the mention of his curls, knowing how fond she was of them, “I’m sure he’ll love that.”

He turns and makes his way to the shovelled part of the trail, his boots unable to protect his feet from the snow’s coldness any longer, “I was making my way into town in hopes of putting a dent in my Christmas shopping. Would you care to join me?”

Her day had been a long one, rising at the crack of dawn in order to eat breakfast in the Great Hall somewhat earlier than usual before setting on her journey to the marketplace. The market was humble in size and nature, though it were the main spot in the city to buy gifts for loved ones, especially during the festive period. The ribbons of emerald green and maroon were hung up from tree to tree, and special candles were hung to light the way when darkness fell upon the city in the late afternoon during the colder months. It were normally packed during the afternoon, when most came to begin their daily shopping, which caused Belle to decide the night before she would rise earlier than usual in order to get there before the crowds. After taking her breakfast of some toast with egg, which she usually cut into strips and dipped into the yolk, she set into town. After spending most of the morning in the shops, where she managed to buy most of her Christmas gifts, she stumbled upon a pair of skates.

Winter in Galma was chilly, seeing as the island was situated within the Eastern Ocean and often brought the bitter winds as well as  the chilling cold. It were easy enough for any lakes to freeze up, resulting in most of the townsfolk using it as an ice rink. The villages would more often that not create festivals surrounding the lakes, selling ale and mulled wine, most adults sitting in inns while the children played outside on the ice. The ice was thick enough to never break, regardless of how sharp the steel upon the skates were, and was usually crowded with children. The main ice rink was in the centre of town, a large flat fountain with the wooden buildings surrounding it, though Belle would never find herself spending her time at that one. An event when she were around seven resulted in her grandmother banning her from playing on that ice rink, where a thirteen year old girl had fallen through the ice and Belle had hesitated to shout for help. She would have been fine, Belle remembered insisting to her while being dragged back home. Inwardly, she hoped she would not be - the girl had never hesitated in calling her names every time she saw her.

No, Belle would find herself at a smaller one in a thick patch of trees closer to their family cottage. The rink was merely a frozen lake, though she preferred it. Buying the skates, she found herself knowing of a lake similar to the one she always skated at back home around the city - and had found her feet guiding her there. Half an hour had passed, and she had not been interrupted. Until now. Faltering slightly at the sudden noise of a man’s voice calling from across the lake, her eyes whipped up from her feet to fall upon Julian’s face. “Wingfield.” Scrunching her nose in irritation, she attempted to maintain the flush threatening to rise from her cheeks. “It’s always been a hobby, thank you very much!” 

She skated over to him, playfully taking her own time. “I’d ask you to join, but you would probably fall flat on your face.” She stepped off the ice, taking her skates off and putting them in the small brown satchel she had on the snowy ground. “Enjoying the holidays? I trust Eric is in awe of the snow.”

It were not that she were unhappy with seeing him, despite the solitude she found in being alone, and without company. It were something Julian could never really fathom, how one could enjoy simply being alone, though she assumed he failed to see that she never really thought of herself as alone - even when she was. A part of her knew neither of them would be alone, not when they remain an important aspect of eachother’s lives. Providing him with a warm smile, one that was not tainted with manipulation or sarcasm, she trudged toward him in the snow. “You could take him onto the balcony, providing he’s wrapped up. I’m sure he’ll grab the snowflakes the same way he grabs those wild curls of yours.”

[julianwingfield-blog]

Karl Friedrich Schinkel. Detail from Castle by the River, 1820.

[julianwingfield-blog]

He shifts his gaze to the floor, his eyes tracing lines through its stone edges. He hears her open a window, causing him to look up and glimpse over to her direction. He leans against the wall as he watches, his arms and legs crossing aimlessly and his eyelids growing heavy. He has no interest in holding a one-way conversation with himself; it made him feel foolish. In fact, Julian was tempted to just saunter away and find an alternative spot in the castle to seclude himself in. He decides against this notion though, and instead sighs loudly, hoping this would signal his discomfort to her and compel her to leave. He was the first one to arrive here after all.

Serenei merely shakes her head once more before taking final bite of the apple’s white, pure meat. She was an Ambassador, he was a mere Duke, she had no reason to speak to him about political affairs and therefore had no plans to answer his question. It was quite presumptuous for him to even ask. There was a window nearby, and Serenei went toward it, opening the frame, and tossed the apple outside.

[julianwingfield-blog]

He stares at her, clearly unamused at her attempt to taunt him and to purposively leave his questions unanswered. He wasn’t going to conjure up a list of guesses -- he couldn’t be bothered to do that (it was only the Seven Isles after all) -- so instead he shook his head in defeat. It was the silence that filled the room whenever he was with the ambassador that forced Julian to become uncomfortable, and when he came across such discomfort, he often found himself grow irritated. “Somebody’s not in a very chatty mood tonight.” he finally states. 

With a flick of her wrist, Serenei caught the apple once more, hiding her smirk behind the section where he bit. She raised her eyebrows in something of a mock-innocent fashion. Her ever present quill and parchment were on her person, but getting them out would be something of a hassle considering the apple and, besides, it certainly would be entertaining to see how long this could last before Duke Wingfield lost his patience.

[julianwingfield-blog]

As the days went on, the night of the masquerade began to grow clear to him as he continued to piece it all together; her statement about the identity of his mysterious admirer providing him with additional clarity. His ears piped up the mentioning of her second encounter with Belle though, this coming as a complete shock to him. He had asked his previous question in attempt to move the topic away from her; he hadn’t actually expected her to answer yes to his question. Why hadn’t she mentioned it earlier? he wondered silently. Despite not speaking to his wife, he was still very much concerned with her well-being and would want to be briefed on how she was coping; given the extent of his friendship with Isla, he assumed she would be aware of this, and thus, come to him sooner. 

If her failure to touch upon her encounter with Belle didn’t irritate him, her next statement did. 

“From what I’ve told you?” he sneered. “This isn’t some woman I had a petty disagreement with on the streets; this is my wife. My wife who has caused me a great deal of pain.” Her words came across as disloyal to him, like all his pain and anger caused by Belle wasn’t a tenable reason for Isla to stay clear from her. He leaned forward in his chair. “How very chivalrous of you.” he said in attempt to calm himself down, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He understood her wish to form her own judgements on people, but his situation with his wife wasn’t a trivial or simple matter; his resentment towards her was valid. He wasn’t asking her to shun Belle either, he merely wished for her to to take his word, to not actively pursue a friendship with her, and to provide him with the comfort of not feeling alone. “It would have been nice if you could have just taken my word on the matter and be done with it.” he mutters. In this moment, he felt a surge of vexation wash over him, a sense of resentment filling him. “Aslan forbid I come across your assaulter and decide to befriend him under the pretext of wishing to form my own opinion on him rather than listening to what you’ve told me.” He regretted his last words the moment they fell out of his mouth, but it was too late, he couldn’t take it back, and once again he was left defenseless to his emotions.

After feeling like a scolded child as they sit in silent for a few beats, Isla welcomes the change in conversation. Her question when she replies to him is almost as sudden. “She was the one that asked about you at the masquerade,” Isla responds, her head still lowered as she hasn’t got the courage to look the other in the eye just yet, and she focusses on her splayed palms. “The one who pretended to want to bed you. I saw her in town and we spoke once more, which… resulted in her getting me drunk with some dwarves, actually.” Isla frowns though a smile tugs at her lips. “That was fun. She’s very beautiful.”

Isla remembers then that Julian isn’t actually speaking to his wife and she instantly feels guilty. She looks up at him then. “I’m sorry. I know you two aren’t speaking, but you know I like to make my own opinions of people rather than shun them for what somebody else has told me.” Her gaze lowers briefly before she looks back at the other. “Have you spoken to her recently?”

[julianwingfield-blog]

“I reckon I will in good time. Like you said, she’ll reside here permanently and therefore I don’t see the need to be haste.” In truth, Julian wasn’t entirely concerned with becoming acquainted the woman; he had stolen a quick glimpse of her upon her first arrival at Cair, but quickly found himself too swamped with his own personal affairs to formally introduce himself. He let out a small breath and bit down on his bottom lip. How should he answer her question? Should he even be answering her question? He cleared his throat, desperately hoping he wouldn’t come across as discourteous to the young Queen. “Forgive me, your Majesty, but I must confess that I make it an effort to stay out of family affairs. I wouldn’t feel right disclosing such a tale without the consent of your brother. I implore you to discuss such matters with him though; I’m most certain he’d be much better at sharing the details of his first meeting with the Princess Consort than me anyway.” 

“However, if your question was an order... then I’d have no choice but to answer.” He said nonchalantly with an eyebrow raised, grinning.

Lucy smiled before patting Julian’s arm. “You should talk to her, get to know her. After all, she’s going to become a permanent addition to the Narnian court.” At his next comment, Lucy frowned in confusion. Peter and Mithian had a bad first meeting? Why didn’t he tell her? What did he do? “How did you hear that? Pray, do tell! What do you know of their first meeting?”

[julianwingfield-blog]

He laughs, “By the lion, you’d make an atrocious husband.” He says this statement out of purse amusement, fulling aware of that the man’s sexual nature went against his country's way of living, and therefore made marriage a grim possibility. Unless he married a woman out of convenience of course, which would arguably further prove Julian’s point on Dorian’s ineptness to play the role of a decent husband.

“Are they now?” he smirks, “And how generous are these new trading partners once they’ve come to their senses in the morning? Or perhaps I should ask you for the number of confrontations you’ve managed to wangle your way out of instead?”

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“Absolutely not. Sounds rather tedious to me. Marriage, that is.” he replies. 

“I’ve mainly been dealing with new trading deals since we’ve got to Narnia. These Narnian traders are awfully stubborn, so it turns out I need to give them a lot of patience. And beer; that usually results in them suddenly becoming unusually generous.” he continues, with a mischievous grin accompanying his last comment. 

“You know me, Jules, I love a good party. Planning them is almost as fun as attending them.” 

[julianwingfield-blog]

@thefloozy i mean @bellewingfieldss​

Julian sat at his makeshift workstation in his chambers, his legs propped up on his wooden desk as he sat aimlessly in his chair. Letting out an exaggerated sigh, he flings the last document he was suppose to review before sending it back to one of his advisors in Beruna, to the side. He decided to leave it for the day, as he had been working diligently as of late, and in his eyes, deserved a break; it also helped that Christmas was just around the corner and he had still yet to write up a list of all the Christmas gifts he would need to eventually buy. This wasn’t unusual for Julian though -- to wait so last minute to buy his gifts -- but with it being his son’s first Christmas, as well as his first Christmas with his wife (even though their relationship was somewhat strained at the moment), he found himself becoming more and more overwhelmed with the inherent need to please them both. Granted, Eric wasn’t even a year old yet, and wouldn’t remember a thing, Julian still wished for it to be perfect. As for Belle, he knew no amount of gifts would make up for their past, nor make their path to forgiveness any easier, he still wanted to find a gift for her that would start off the new year, as well as their new relationship, right. He wanted to find a gift that showed that he did in fact still care for her, and that his love and devotion for her was still as strong as the year before.

He stood up and made his way to his chamber door, reaching for his winter clock and a pair of gloves. Despite it only being mere seconds ago, he had made the impulsive decision to wander into the city in hopes to get ahead on his holiday shopping. He slipped a pouch of coins into his trouser pockets before slipping through his chamber doors and trudging his way outside into the thick and wet snow. Unlike most, Julian wasn’t particularly fond of the snow (in fact, he use to hate it. However, over the years, he has become more tolerant of it), it made travelling inconvenient and he dreaded the feeling of a cold nose. The snow also reminded Julian of his time where he had stumbled and lacerated his thigh open while hunting, and all but froze to death. This was main reason for his hatred towards the bitter season, as it was the icy and unpaved trail that was responsible for his nasty fall. However, the snow also reminded Julian of his first encounter with his wife, and for that reason alone, he couldn’t find it in him to completely loathe the winter season anymore. 

He continued his trek through the snow, until unexpectedly, he stumbled upon a frozen pond that had been turned into a skating rink. As if this wasn’t a big enough of a surprise in itself, seeing Belle skating on this very same pond was. Julian stood frozen in his tracks, almost dumbfounded by what his eyes were currently witnessing. His gaze doesn’t leave Belle’s frame, his eyes following her as she skates in small circles on the ice, her long mane of dark curls being swept across her shoulders and back from the cold breeze. He feels his heart flutter at the sight; more than pleased to see the happiness that was etched across her face. It had been a long time since Julian had last seen her truly happy. He looked down to the ground, a large smile slipping onto his features. 

Once the shock has finally washed through him, Julian sauntered his way over to the pond, his whereabouts to Belle still concealed. He stood at the edge of where the trail ends and connects with the pond.  With his arms crossed and his lips pressed into a mischievous smirk, he calls out to her. “Well, I’ll be damned, Evans.” he says, suppressing his urge to laugh, clearly amused by this entire situation, “I didn’t know you could skate. Tell me, has this escapade always been a hobby of yours or have you just picked up on it only recently?”

[julianwingfield-blog]

Julian looks down to his lap and begins fidgeting with one of his rings as he listens to her. She asks him not to worry, however, it wasn’t like he held any control over what he worries about. The stories her heard from Dorian, as well as her recent behaviour, or even the defensiveness that seemed to wash over her when he even brought up this topic, confirmed Julian of his suspicion and caused him to increase his worries. He lets out a large breath, “Very well, but please know that I’m here for you. For whenever you’re ready to talk, that is.” he speaks softly. He feels defeated, like their conversation had made no progress.

He leaned back in his chair, his mind pondering of ways to get rid of the awkward tension that was so apparent in the room. He could bring up the stag party once more, but they had already discussed details earlier, what more could they address? If he brought up the rumours about her and King Edmund, she would just quickly dismiss them (he wouldn’t believe them until she confirmed them anyway). Then finally, it dawned on him; she had ran into his wife, but he had no idea of how their first encounter went. “Have you met her then?” he asks a little too abruptly, “My wife?”

Isla closes her eyes for a brief moment as she inhales slowly. Only once she’s exhaled does she open her eyes; she knows that Julian will never let her hear the end of this if she doesn’t at least admit that there’s something wrong, and she doesn’t feel like getting into an argument with Julian because she thinks her problems are petty. “Fine,” Isla eventually responds, tone low, before she clenches her jaw and looks back at him. “I am not feeling the best lately. But it’s fine. I am fine. You don’t need to worry. It’s not… it’s nothing serious, all right? You know that I would tell you if it was something serious.

I just don’t want to talk about it. I don’t think I can unless I write a list down of what’s troubling me; there are plenty of things running through my head right now.” Isla lowers her gaze. “I will talk about it when I am ready,” By that she means when I am no longer able to keep my feelings bottled up anymore and I am about to explode. “You know that.”

[julianwingfield-blog]

“Would saving my marriage qualify as something exciting?” he asks before continuing, “Where have you been, friend? I’ve been meaning to properly thank you for all your help with planning the stag party.”

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Now that that’s done and dusted, is there anything exciting going on around here?

[julianwingfield-blog]

He stood still, letting the solemnity of the moment truly sink in, the sound of the nearby fire’s crackles now turning into soft murmurs, his own self becoming almost lost by his new reality; he could feel himself becoming be lost in her, his previous hostility towards her slowly vanishing from his heart. While he still couldn’t find it in him to understand precisely why she did what she did, he knew he would find out in time. As they stood together, Julian couldn’t help but be drawn back to their reunion a year ago, back in the the castle’s courtyard where they had declared their utter devotion and commitment to each other, and shared a moment of passion together in the rain. His mind also drifted back to the night they had eloped, the moment in which they exchanged vows that formally bounded them together (despite himself being bounded to her long before that), and the contracts they initialed that further fortified the journey they would be enduring with together.

Julian had managed to commit these moments to memory, but more specifically, he remembered how he felt in those precise moments; the intense rates of contentless that seemed to wash so effortlessly through his veins, the way in which he didn’t feel doubtful in himself, in his ability to love, for in those unforgettable moments, he felt whole — as if he was left unmarked and unbroken despite being dragged down by life’s burdens, and instead felt himself be the person he so desperately yearned to be. In this exact moment, standing here with Belle once more, he felt that same level of happiness that had once washed over him before. It wasn’t until now, however, did Julian realized that the only way he’d be able to heal from the loss of their child was if he could find it in his heart to forgive her, and to allow her to help him in his recovery. He needed them to grieve their child together, to share his pain and guilt with her, in order to properly heal.

He fixates his gaze onto Belle, his eyes piercing into her own blue ones, their gazes almost pleading with one another, begging for the other one to finally swallow their pride, their hurt, to trust each other again, and to exculpate themselves from their sins. He brought his knuckles to the ridge of her cheeks, her flesh feeling warm against his skin. He keeps his hand there, his touch remaining tender, his eyes not removing from her face. It’d be a long and tedious journey they would have to endure together, but given the fact that he had turned into a chaotic and disastrous mess when they were apart — their separation reminding him of how much he needed Belle, how much he depended on her, and how much his love for her had became a part of him — it was a journey he was more than willing to make. He was lost and needed to be brought home, and she was his home.

He dropped his hand when she reintroduced herself, a soft and breathy laugh falling from his lips. He can’t help but move his gaze to the ground, his hand running through his brown mop of hair as he ponders what to say. His instincts told him to pull her into his arms, to pin her against the wall and never let go, but he wanted to do this right. He finally looked up at her, mirroring her small smile, “How odd. It appears we share the same last name.” His half smile had turned into a widespread grin now.

The pair ended up spending the most of the night sharing stories (as well as awkward moments of both silence and uncertainty) with one another until they found their way back to the chambers Belle was currently residing in. As they strolled, he inquired to her about Beruna, as she had been dealing with the bulk of his internal duties while he was away, as well as spending time to bring her up to date on his time spent at court. They continued walking until the early hours of the morning, until finally, they both agreed it was time for them to retire for the night. He walked Belle to her chamber door, bidding her farewell and goodnight before returning to his own chambers. He had lazily pulled off his tunic and tossed it to the floor, before climbing into his bed and finally laying down. He could feel his eyes growing heavy and his mind and body exhausted from the day’s events. However, while he dozed off, for the first time in months, Julian didn’t feel empty or numb inside, instead he felt content, as well as apprehensive, for what the future would entail for him and his wife.

He truly looked scared, in a way the had never truly seen from him before - which was definitely saying something seeing as she had seen him pale and sickly in the middle of a forest clearing, his blood tainting the snow red. It was certainly possible that if she had not stumbled upon him that fateful cold morning, the cold air coming out of her mouth like smoke, a much worser fate would have come to him. And yet, despite his anxiety which he attempted to hide behind his useful flirtatious manner, she had never seen him as scared as he looked now. Within her numerous outbursts of anger, as well as his, it seemed as though she had truly forgotten how much the two cared for eachother. There were a time where she would put him before anything, and him too, and yet it seemed as though they both forgot their good times amid their rows, and remembered only the bad. Now she looked back on it, it seemed as though their good times truly outweighed the bad.

The two had stood in silence for a few moments, that had somehow felt like a lifetime to her - she noticed his burning orbs fixed upon the crackling fire in which the possibility of running was now up in flames. She was unaware as to whether he were inwardly vexed at her, for taking the rash action of throwing something he could have wanted to the flames. Papers were easily replaceable, and they both knew that if he wanted to end things so badly, he would easily be able to gain new ones within the same very day. The upper corners of her lips had begun to quirk upwards as he met her gaze, though she fought to keep it under control. It was the relief that had swept over her in realising the two remained still wanted eachother. It would have been so easy for the two if Julian had simply returned to his promiscuous habits and she merely fled from her problems. Instead, they had truly chosen the harder path to forgiveness.

“I’m certain.” He walked closer to her, and she knew she had no need to open her mouth for him to know her walls had come crashing down in that moment. “I promise.” She felt no immediate urge to physically embrace her husband, knowing that he would simply be able to know of her happiness. It were as if the few frightful moments that had occurred moments ago, in which it seemed as though their fire had finally extinguished. At his question, she found herself not knowing what she would do, for the first time in a while. She did not want to think about what could happen in the future, but rather focus on what was happening now. Hesitating, she made the bold movement of lifting her hand and placing it against his cheek, the stubble somewhat familiar to her. It was time to begin again.

Hesitating, she took a small breath. “I’m Belle. Belle Wingfield.” A small smile had began to creep onto her lips, a sincere smile that illustrated the her happiness. Attempting to lighten the air around them, which had felt heavy until that moment, she tilted her head slightly, hoping he would play along with her.

[julianwingfield-blog]

Charles Brandon gifsets [14 / ? ]

[julianwingfield-blog]

Julian is slightly taken back by the man’s sudden and loud howl of laughter. He didn’t expect his jest to cause him so much amusement. Nevertheless, he laughs with the king in endeavour to remain polite. While Julian no longer resided in Archenland, he didn’t want to cut off all ties with his nation. The mentioning of being a nuisance to his mother caused him to lift his chin up, his lips turning into a smug smile, suddenly proud. “Well, isn’t that what children are for?” he asks, his mind wandering to Lune’s own family. The Montilyet’s hid their family’s years of inner turmoil quite well, but with his growing closeness with not just one of his family members, but with his nephew as well, provided Julian with insight that not many would be given access to. 

“Where do I begin? Well,” he says, “I am a married man now. Though I suspect you already knew that given my mother appears to be regularly whining into your ear. She isn’t fond of my wife -- and by that I mean she isn’t of noble birth.” He stopped after this, suddenly wondering if Lune would be opposed to his marriage like his mother. The two were quite similar in terms of values and ways in which one must conduct themselves at court. He shook his head; he wasn’t ashamed of marrying someone who was of lower rank. “I also have a son, Eric.” Julian didn’t wish to focus the attention onto himself for any longer. He was here to hopefully persuade the king to let his daughter stay in Narnia once the peace summit concluded. He crossed his arms, trying to ponder ways to gradually change the topic. 

“How are you finding Narnia, Your Majesty?” he finally asks, “Is it to your liking? From what I’ve seen your children are quite fond of it. Especially Princess Isla. She appears to be happier than she has ever been in Archenland, if I do say so myself.” Would he take offense to this? He shrugged his shoulders at this; he was never one to be subtle anyway. 

At the sight of the man’s face falling as his identity was revealed, Lune wondered as to why he would be so troubled by the sight of the King of his home nation. The light from the candles was not enough to full illuminate Julian’s face, and yet by the sudden change in tone, which had changed from challenging to surprised, that his presence had been somewhat of a shock to the young Duke. Though he remained unsure as to why, seeing as all of the Narnian Court knew of the peace summit that was going on right now in which nobles were travelling from all around their world to the centre of political life, Cair Paravel. Exchanging a warm, welcoming smile to him, he would be lying if he would say that he were completely happy with the way in which Julian had been behaving as of late. Not because of his relationship with his family, which in truth Lune could not care about. “Your parents are well, Julian Wingfield. Though last I heard from your Mother, she was desperate to visit you here. Good luck with that.”

No, the Wingfield family was a family Lune had unattached himself from in terms of family drama a long while ago. He reminded himself to briefly ask Julian to as to why he rarely bothers to visit his family estates, especially because it were those estates he would inherit when his father passed. His father had briefly complained to him of his son’s lack of interest in the family estate that had been granted to them centuries back, part of an aristocratic legacy. Instead, he had chosen to take up residence in Narnia and even accepted High King Peter’s proposal of offering him the position of Duke of Beruna. It was a mystery to him, as to why so many of Archenland’s generation seemed to be thriving in Narnia and wanting to stay here rather than remain loyal to their own home nation. 

Letting out a bark of a laugh, that sounded somewhat similar to the pack of hunting dogs Lune spends so much of his time with, he nodded his head at the mention of his parents. “You’ve always had a talent at driving your mother up the wall, even from when you were a young boy.” Although Lune strictly believed that men and women ought to be treated differently from birth to ensure they were socialised in the correct way, he found that his daughter and his nephew grew greatly fond of the Wingfield boy and had adopted him into their ranks years ago. He had resisted at first, arguing that it were improper for his daughter to be such good friends with a boy that would soon become a man, but his wife had managed to persuade him to see nothing of it. 

“We have much catching up to do, it has been a very long time. I’ve been hearing much about you back in Anvard, and I would like to know which of it is true. Besides, you know what Anvard was like in regards to you. Tell me what I have missed out on.” 

[julianwingfield-blog]

Julian stares at her, letting the room’s silence to ring loudly in his ear. She would have to want to talk about it to him; she had to be ready to open up to him. Him prying it out of her would only cause her to become defensive, and knowing Isla like he did, he knew that would only make matters worse. He notices her lips parting slightly, her mind obviously trying to ponder something compelling to say. Something to get me off her tracks, he reminds himself. He couldn’t blame her for not wanting to talk about her deepest thoughts and feelings though -- he would behave in the same way if the roles were reversed -- however, he has learned that one cannot kept their feelings bottled up forever, and that doing so would only end as a tragedy. 

“Yes, I know that. But he doesn’t lie when it comes to you. He loves and cares for you too much.” he says, his tone firm. “And that is exactly why I am coming to you and is why I’m practically begging you to tell me what is going on in that damn head of yours. If you’re not ready to talk to me then fine. So be it. But don’t cover it up with a lie saying you’re fine.”

Isla’s eyes rise from the floor as she hears the other talk; she stares up at him incredulously as she hears his words. Her lips part but no sound comes out for a few beats – she hesitates, unsure of what to say. There’s plenty she could say if she managed to sort out all the thoughts in her head, but her emotions have all blurred into one state of mind: confusion. She doesn’t want to talk to him about how she feels because she’s embarrassed to have them – and even if she did want to she would make no sense. In the past when she’s felt like this she’s sat down and written a list of what’s bothering her, but the very idea leaves her feeling irritated.

“Talk about what?” Isla breathes, brows furrowed as she looks at the other. “Dorian lies plenty and you know that.” Yes, Dorian lies – but never does he lie about anything concerning Isla’s wellbeing. He has seen her at her worst, and Isla knows he has no intention of seeing her go back to that mental state. Dorian lies, but he only does so to get himself out of trouble. “He does not know my thoughts. And I came here to help you with something, not for you to try to help me.”