#Lord Clarmont of Revaire

[birdmanart]

Rather late, but happy holidays @the-duelling-tophat ! I’m sorry this is so small - it’s been a very busy break and I was only just able to work on this in the past few days TTATT You had so many references and cool things tagged for Bel! She seems so interesting, I really wish I’d had more time to go through them more and learn about her further. As it is, I hope this is an acceptable depiction for the time being! :) This is the second year in a row I’ve drawn Clarmont for someone’s secret santa gift, I’m starting to feel like it’s a pattern... 

[bee-a-garbage-shipper]

Zarad: Truth or dare?

Clarmont: Dare.

Zarad: I dare you to kiss the prettiest person in the room.

Clarmont: Hey Gisette.

Gisette: Composed but flattered. Yes?

Clarmont: Could you move? I’m trying to get to Cornelia.

[angstmongertina]

contest

I am once again now technically two days late, but I had a lot of fun writing out this first date with Clarmont properly, especially with Morgaine’s more... cynical approach to it all, so you know what? Worth it. :P

The two lines of dialogue were lifted wholesale from the game.

Day Eight: Reticence

AO3 Link

When she first received the invitation from Lord Clarmont, she wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. In her time at the capital of Revaire, he had always been studiously polite and certainly well-liked within court, but just quiet enough, just distant enough, with an air of melancholy and mystery to attract the attention of more than one besotted and ultimately unsuccessful noblewoman. Then again, suspecting what she did about his… affiliations, it was perhaps only a surprise that he, dashing and burdened as he was, did not hold more interest than he already did.

Which only made his request that she join him for a meal all the more baffling.

Were it anyone else, she might have suspected that he had an underlying motive, that perhaps he had figured out her intentions at the Summit and meant to do away with her before she could have a chance to reveal his secrets to the Crown. Except she knew she had been careful, had surely passed his test, such as it was, with the nervous Wellish princess. Had worked hard to win his trust.

It made a little more sense when her preoccupation led to another test in the form of the serving girl and the fallen letter. There was no doubt that, regardless of her own mental state, the collision would have occurred and the missive so carelessly dropped so as for her to see its contents perfectly. Even if the idea that she could be fooled by such an obvious test was laughable, it was, in some ways, almost a relief, both that her secret had not been found out, and that her adversary, such as they were, was not entirely incompetent.

It would have made for a disappointing, if not embarrassing, show otherwise.

And yet, sitting opposite of Lord Clarmont in the small dining room, faced with his earnest expression, his brilliant smile, she was beginning to wonder whether she had underestimated the man. Inquiries and deflections fell from his lips with ease, natural and understated, and she found herself intrigued despite herself, especially at the authenticity, the simple truth that rang in every statement.

In that moment, it suddenly made sense why he was likely acting as the face of the Revairan rebellion.

The revelation and its implications were almost enough to make her visibly stiffen, and certainly enough to completely derail her thoughts. Rather, she found herself fighting the sudden urge to gasp, to give any indication on the direction of her thoughts with more difficulty than she cared to admit.

Which was, of course, exactly when he spoke again, calm yet mischievous and utterly disarming as he asked about her past.

It was not, in any sense an unexpected question and certainly a strategy that she was intimately familiar with; she knew full well that information could be obtained from any type of personal information, that knowledge about a person lay in everything from the content of a tale to the way it was presented, and as such, she had long since prepared answers to such inquiries, tales and half-truths designed to show herself in the best possible light.

And, catching the warm earnestness in those bright blue eyes, she found the words dying on her tongue.

Instead, and without any conscious thought, she found herself transported back to her childhood, back to a time before the world had fallen into pieces around her, and she couldn’t, for the life of her, figure out how.

The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of conversation and frantically racing thoughts. His story was lighthearted and innocuous enough, or at least would have been if not for the slip of tongue, and yet…

And yet, for the first time, rather than making a mental note of it, of finding a way to use the information to her advantage, she found herself wanting to distract, to comfort, to wipe the melancholy, the heaviness, from his brow, and it was infuriating.

As she rose to her feet with a quip at his proffered assistance, she once again found herself struggling for words against that heartstoppingly dazzling smile. As if sensing her hesitation, he bowed his head.

“Thank you very much for agreeing to have dinner with me, Lady Morgaine. I have enjoyed our time together very much.”

It was nothing more than the niceties expected of him and she knew this, knew the socially dictated lie that rolled off her tongue without hesitation, even as she curtsied, resisting the urge to send him a sharp look, to ascertain just how much subtext was hidden behind that studiously polite acknowledgement.

“No, thank you for the invitation, Lord Clarmont. I also enjoyed myself a great deal.”

Only when she stepped into the hall, his bright smile at her words still lingering in the back of her mind, did she allow herself to breathe. While it had certainly been an… experience dining with the man, and thus informative in it of itself, at least in earning his trust, it had also been, in some senses, an inefficient use of her time. She had gained little in concrete information and, considering her slip, perhaps lost more than that. On information useful for the Crown, she had nothing.

And despite it all, when she made it back to her quarters, it occurred to her that her parting statement had not been a falsehood after all.

[krys-loves-otome]

question for houki! I noticed you said you don't want to be "directly involved" with violence or killing, but don't you think that's similar to a bystander effect? 👀 just some food for thought!

Picrew used here~

I took the question more in the literal sense, in that I wish to not take up a sword or dagger and do the deed myself, as the warlords and others I’ve known would more readily do. I myself am not built for combat and would only be considered a hindrance with my lack of physical prowess. Even under the most favorable circumstances, the best I could do would be to surprise my aggressor and wound them, never mind my own emotional state under this imagined scenario. Surprise, panic, even the possibility of rage only clouds one’s judgment, meaning I would have less chances of successfully landing a debilitating hit, let alone a fatal one. There’s also the size and ability of my aggressor that should also be taken into consideration, as while I could potentially surprise the aggressor by, say, an elbow into their stomach or pinching the soft part of their hand, certain heights would be out of my reach so I cannot blind them or punch them in the nose. 

All of that aside, if I can help defend someone else with the skills that I do have, I’ll do what I can to help them. When I was at the Summit, there was a Princess named Penelope, from Wellin. Very sweet girl, but the Summit clearly wasn’t the place for innocents like her. She was approached by the recently crowned prince of Revaire, Jarrod. As though the rumors of the bloody coup weren’t enough, Prince Jarrod himself was cold and domineering and frightening to the gentle princess. I had been speaking to another lord from Revaire, Lord Clarmont, and we both noticed the situation. Unlike his fellow Revarian courtiers, Lord Clarmont had a warm smile and a charming demeanor. He was also quite chivalrous and disliked seeing Princess Penelope under duress from his ‘prince.’ Lord Clarmont asked if we should go and rescue the poor princess. Having the… pleasure, of meeting with Prince Jarrod myself, I felt sorry for Princess Penelope. No lady, no matter her status, should have to deal with that, especially if they are ill-equipped to deal with gentlemen like Prince Jarrod.

Luckily, from what I gathered from my encounter with him, he will back down if stood up to. For all of his aggression, he backs down when he sees he cannot intimidate his victim. 

So, even before Lord Clarmont had a chance walk over to them, I walked over to them and just… started rattling off random trivia. Prince Jarrod probably thought I was mad, coming towards him again after our first encounter. But he did back off from Princess Penelope, the girl thankful and she ran off towards her brother. Lord Clarmont was impressed and we became friends after that. 

So, from what I understand of what the ‘bystander effect’ is, I don’t think I fall into that effect, not easily anyway. I may not be able to fight like the warlords or the warriors and fighters I’ve known, but that doesn’t mean I won’t step in when the occasion calls for it. 

I hope that this answers your question sufficiently. Feel free to ask more questions if you wish. 

[mer-birdman]

7KPP Week Day 6 - Hope or Despair

To be Revairan is to remain graceful even as the earth crumbles beneath your feet.

"Xián! Come in, please, you look terrible!"

The young man — really barely a man at all, still gangly and awkward with large feet and freckles under a mop of curly brown hair — ducks through the door before Yuè can open it any further and pulls it shut behind him with a click, panting. A dark stain slowly seeps through the fabric at his shoulder, and a reddish smear is visible on the sides of the hand he has clamped over it. He immediately hurries away from the entryway, tugging the curtains over the door and front windows shut with his good hand before grabbing Yuè's wrist and pulling her further into the house, calling, "Lord Clarmont! Where are you?"

Yuè stumbles behind her younger brother, caught off guard. "Xián, he's upstairs in his study, what's—" and gets no further, because Xián changes direction and hurries them up the stairs, where her husband has already stepped out of his study to meet them with a concerned expression.

"Xián Chén? What's going on?"

The boy pants, dropping his sister's wrist and leaning heavily against the wall. "They came for us. Last night, or yesterday? I'm not sure. All dressed in black, came in through the windows after we'd gone to sleep — I only saw because Hào Yíng had had a nightmare and I was getting her a sweet from the kitchens." He winces, fingers digging into his shoulder around the bloodstain. "I got back to her in time, but they— Mother and Father, Bì Ān and Guì Fú and Jī Huā — I'm so sorry, Yuè, I couldn't get to them in time."

She freezes, and Clarmont wraps one warm arm around her shoulders as the words run circles around her head. All but one of her precious sisters — dead? Gone, forever? Jī had been in love with a boy from a nearby family, they'd been exchanging letters. Bì had only been eleven years old, she hadn't even started wearing hoops yet. Guì was saving up to travel to Jiyel to study music there, Avalie had even offered to help her set up an apprenticeship... and they're all gone now?

Her voice cracks when she tries to speak. "And what of my other brothers, Xián? What happened to Mīn Lán and Xiāo Sēn?"

"Mīn was with Hào, so I took both of them and ran. Xiāo was camping out overnight with one of his friends — training, they said, but I think they just didn't want to admit they're sleeping together." Against her will, she giggles, the sound weak and strained. "I picked them up on the way out — they're hiding on your grounds right now, Lord Clarmont. Is it— can I—"

Yuè doesn't see it, but she knows from the movement of his shoulders that Clarmont nods firmly, and she can tell from his voice how worried he is. "Yes, of course they can come in. It would be terrible of me to leave family out in the cold like this. Where did you leave them?"

"The stand of maple trees, sir. I left Xiāo and Orion in charge, since they're the oldest."

Pulling away from them, Clarmont hurries down the stairs, and after a few moments Yuè hears the door shut noisily and sighs. Her mind is still fuzzy with shock, but there's much to be taken care of now. Clarmont with find her siblings, she can trust him with that, so now she must care for the eldest of her younger brothers. "Come on, Xián. Let me clean your shoulder."

Her brother winces and nods, following her slowly down the hallway and into the washroom attached to the bedroom that she and Clarmont share. In a deceptively small cupboard hidden under the sink, she finds a salve and bandages, and wets her handkerchief in the washbasin before gesturing for her brother to take off his shirt so she can clean the injury underneath. The fabric sticks a bit where the blood's already started to dry, but she dabs at it gently with the kerchief and it slowly comes off, revealing a thin gash across the outer curve of his shoulder. "Oh, Xián, what happened?"

"One of them got me while we were running." Xián shrugs and winces as she slowly begins washing off the wound, wiping away crusted blood and cleaning out the edges. "It was going to hit Hào, and I thought— well, better me than her."

A mournful sigh escapes her as she examines the cut, checking for signs of infection and feeling very much like she had at eleven again. Oh, how she'd wished her little brothers and sisters could have had the childhood she didn't, wished they would never have to make the choice of sacrificing for another's livelihood. "Well, it doesn't look infected. You're not allowed to use your shoulder for a few days, though."

"What?" A panicked look creeps into his eyes. "But then how am I going to carry Hào and Mīn?"

She pauses. "Carry them where? Aren't you going to stay here?" Where I can take care of you, but she doesn't say that. It would seem overbearing, since they weren't actually all that close when she still lived at home. None of them were. Yuè loved her siblings dearly, but they hadn't particularly returned the feeling for most of her childhood.

Xián blinks owlishly, staring at her in surprise and only turning away to hiss in pain as she starts dabbing some of the medicinal salve onto the wound and smoothing it over the raw edges. "I— I didn't think— We mostly just hoped you'd let us stay the night."

"Just the night? Xián, you can't be serious." Placing a gauze pad over the cut and wrapping linen bandages around it to keep it firmly in place, Yuè sighs. "You're barely of age, and they'd find you in no time if you stayed in the open. They—" She flinches at the words, but presses on, "—they'd probably not assume that you'd find shelter with your estranged freak of a sister, so you'll be safer here than anywhere else."

Downstairs, the front door opens and closes, interrupting her brother as he opens his mouth to respond with an unhappy expression. Yuè stands, folding his dirtied and torn shirt in her arms. "I'll send this to the wash — I'm sure Clar will be more than willing to let you borrow one of his. Is anyone else hurt?"

"Just— um, just me."

A firm nod, and she turns and leaves the room, almost colliding with her husband in the hallway as he reaches the top of the stairs with a gaggle of children following him, the smallest being carried in his arms. Xián follows her, immediately bending down to throw his arms around his youngest brother as Mīn runs forward to meet him, and grunts slightly as the movement jostles his injured shoulder. Xiāo (standing at the edge of the bridge between childhood and adulthood, the proportions of his face all out of sync in their growth, and he's grown far too much since she last saw him) hurries to embrace his elder sister, tugging at the hand that is wrapped around Orion's so they both end up in Yuè's arms as she bends her head and presses her nose into their hair. They smell like trees and smoke, and she suspects her brother has forgotten to tell her the fate of their childhood home on purpose.

Hào, in Clarmont's arms, reaches for her as she straightens up, and Yuè steps forward to take her littlest sister in her arms. Hào's only seven, born just a year before Yuè was married off to the Baron and too young to really remember her, but Yuè has their mother's round cheeks and flat nose and their father's round lips and high forehead and looks just enough like home that she feels safe to Hào. Pressing a clumsy kiss into the girl's curly hair, she looks up to meet her husband's eyes and some sort of silent message must pass between them, because he immediately crosses the space between them to wrap his arms around her and let her rest her head against his shoulder. 

Neither of them say it, but they both know why her home was attacked. Clarmont may be well-respected and well-liked and safely hidden behind his political cover, but Yuè is outspoken and dangerous to the crown. She's only become more public and more controversial since their return from the Summit just over a year ago, and while her marriage keeps her somewhat safe... her estranged family clearly didn't share that same security. She wants to feel something at the loss, some sorrow or regret at the fact that it's her fault her parents are dead, and yet all she can think of is how eager they were to marry their eldest daughter off to a man who clearly only wanted an exotic plaything, how they fawned and fluttered over her luck to have become so wealthy while ignoring how she had been treated as less than human by her first husband. Yuè wants to mourn them, but her heart simply feels empty, and she recalls her mother warning her not to fight back or argue because she was their livelihood now. Her father telling her to let the Baron do as he pleased, she was a wife now and should submit to her husband's wishes, as though she wasn't barely fourteen and terrified.

No, she can't find it in her to feel sorry at this fate.

The loss of her sisters is hard — they hadn't deserved it, had only been children born to the wrong family at the wrong time — but she's grown up in Revaire, and she knows that war doesn't care whether you're a child or a crone, it will kill you either way. And this is war — not outright, not soldiers versus soldiers and not war in any traditional sense — but everyone within her country is fighting now. For peace, or for power. And now because of her, because she refused to bow her head and stay silent any longer, her family has suffered.  Her siblings — her children, in all but the traditional sense — don't deserve this, don't deserve to have their lives cracked and shattered to pieces like this. She hadn't been able to protect them from this loss they never should have suffered, but she can and will protect them now.

"They're staying." 

It's not a question, nor a request, and Clarmont simply nods and presses his lips to her temple gently. "Your family is my family, Yuè. They're staying."

The world falls apart beneath them, and they build an island out of the pieces, for that is what it is to live in Revaire now.

AAAAAGH I made up the names of all seven of Yuè's siblings on the spot while writing this. behindthename is my new best friend, sorry y’all. 

This is intended to be post-canon in a sort of ‘bad ending’ where Revaire is still in turmoil — maybe not as much, but it’s still a bad situation. I wanted to do hope and despair instead of one or the other, so... yeah. Also, I feel I should point out — Yuè calls herself a ‘freak’ because it’s a sort of internalized discrimination after years of hearing it from others. She’s mostly gotten over it by the point when this story takes place, but it’s still a bit of a reflexive habit.

Crossposted to AO3!

[drhu0806]

4 - Will that be all?

Another fanfic entry for 7KPP, for Octavia/Clarmont again.

Though Lord Clarmont had his hands full with personal endeavors, even he understood that as a delegate, he had an obligation to at least pretend to socialize and curry favor with the other nations. In his few moments of free time, the lord with the self-proclaimed social graces of a grumpy cat chose to host a small dinner.

It wasn’t a grand thing, not like they were in Revaire, but Clarmont never had a penchant for the opulent. The only coin spent was on a small musical accompaniment, while everything else was provided for by the isle residents. The guest list was minimal and carefully tailored. Though the planning took some effort, he looked forward to the chance to enjoy some good company and relax, if only a little.

The invited delegates trickled in, and Clarmont greeted them all with a smile. Princess Penelope and Prince Lisle arrived together bearing small gifts. Princess Cordelia, ever prompt, carefully walks in wearing perfectly suitable attire for the occasion. Earl Emmett simply wears a large smile, a constant breath of fresh air among the stiff, shifty natures of the other delegates.

Of course he would be lying if he said his anticipation at seeing his guests was equal across the board.

Pristine and polished, Octavia stepped into the room with the signature poise of a knight. The beautiful silken qipao she donned swirled around her legs, though she still walked as though she was in uniform. In the low light, Clarmont was momentarily bewitched at the sight.

She spotted him staring and gives him an awkward wave. It’s enough to return the lord to reality, and he frantically starting attending to his other arrivals to get his focus back on track.

The hours passed, refreshments are had, and it was around this time he heard the beginnings of a waltz coming from the music ensemble. Clarmont’s brow furrowed in confusion; he could have sworn this piece hadn’t been put into the program.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a servant whisper to one of the players before darting back into the shadows. He was certain he saw a few chuckles as the music shifted, setting a mood for his gathering that he had most certainly not planned for.  

Princess Penelope giggled, tugging on her brother’s sleeve. Emmett, looking pleased at the turn of events, approached the princess with a proffered hand. It was the closest he had ever seen the prince of Wellin come to rolling his eyes, but with a smile he shook his head and gently pushed his sister forward. The earl and the princess were positively beaming as they eased into the tempo of the music, twirling across the floor without much care in the world.

With a sigh, Lisle ends up getting caught in the mood, offering Cordelia his arm. At first hesitant, the sounds of merriment coming from the dancing pair combined with the mood of the room was irresistible even to the staunchly proprietous princess. The two joined together in a more formal waltz, though it was clear they were enjoying themselves.

That left only two, and Clarmont’s heart quickened at the sight of Octavia lounging nearby, looking amazingly nonchalant despite her fellow guests.

Should he? Was it too improper, given how short their time together had been so far? Would he be overstepping her boundaries? For the first time in a while, Clarmont’s thoughts were a jumble, desperately seeking the right answer.

Yet fate seemed to determine his choices for the night. From behind, someone he couldn’t see bumped into him, pushing him forward enough to nearly collide with the lady knight. He stopped himself short of knocking her to the ground, but it was enough to get her attention. Octavia cocked her head to the side, a smile just barely tugging at the edges of her rouged lips. Drink casually in hand, her posture more relaxed than usual, it was clear she was open to whatever he might or might not ask her to do. She expected nothing from him save his company.

Clarmont released a long breath, summoning a courage he never thought he needed. Refusing to break eye contact, he bowed, offering his hand.

“Lady Octavia, I would be incredibly humbled if you would have this dance with me.”

“But of course, my lord Clarmont.” Her eyes twinkling, Octavia slid her hand into his, and Clarmont’s reservations seemed to slip away. He pulled her as close as current company would allow, placing a hand firmly on the small of her back while the other tightly intertwined with hers. The music grew louder, more jaunty, and the two stepped and spun across the room. All through it all, he kept his eyes on nothing but her, his movements both guiding and matching hers. Octavia laughed quite often, and it was as sweet to his ears as the beautiful melodies drifting from the orchestra.

The night grew late, and though it went somewhere he hadn’t anticipated, Clarmont could hardly consider the night a failure. The others left first, warmly giving him their compliments on what an enjoyable time they’d had. In the end he was left alone with no one but Octavia. And to be perfectly honest, he loathed the thought of parting ways with her so soon.

“I should be heading back as well, lest Jasper gain more worry lines on his face,” she chuckled.

“Perhaps I could walk you back.”

“Lord Clarmont, I am a knight. I am perfectly capable of handling myself.”

“My lady, you mistake me if you assume I underestimate your abilities. Perhaps I want to be in your company simply...for your company.”

She gave him a look but concedes, and the two begin their very slow trek back to her chambers. They conversed about many things, mostly small. She asked about social gatherings in Revaire. He told her about the grand masquerades, of giant halls of people in gorgeous attire mingling with each other while wearing equally extravagant masks.

“Oh, that might have been a fun little addition to your little event. Not that it was lacking in anything,” she laughed. “We have these very entertaining performances in Jiyel that involve masks. The performers can change them with a single twitch of the head. I would have liked to try to bring one of those and see how the others would react.”

“The people here already wear a thousand masks each, some genuine, others not. I doubt I would have preferred more. I enjoy seeing people as they are.”

“Then may I ask how you see me?”

It was a question asked simply, and Clarmont knew there was little weight behind it. But words caught in his throat again, thoughts skittered into each other in his mind, the way they always did when he was with her. He would never be able to spit out a fully articulated answer at this point.

“I see you as a very complex, very beautiful woman,” he settled with. Octavia scrutinized him, as if she knew what was going on in his head. But she said nothing, and they settled back into comfortable, light conversation.

At last, they arrived at her door. Clarmont gave her hand a light kiss, bidding her good night.

“Sweet dreams, my dear lady. May your rest be peaceful and your day fruitful.”

“Perhaps we can meet again like this soon. Spend some time together.”

“Of course. Whenever your schedule is free, I would more than happy to offer you another dance.”

Octavia laughed. “Will that be all then, Lord Clarmont?”

It was a question with a thousand million answers. He wanted to offer her dozens of additional dances. He wanted to take a stroll with her down a scenic garden path. He wanted to watch the sunset with her, ask her about her favorite constellations in the night sky. He wanted to know what her lips tasted like after she had a sip of wine, how her head might fit into his shoulder as he held her close. 

They could spend an eternity together, and there would still never be enough time for all he could dream of.

“Yes, Octavia. That will be all.”

[leahazel]

First lines meme!

Writing meme via @faejilly​! It’s been a million years since I worked on anything but BFS. Most of the non-BFS I’m working on now is for exchanges, and therefore top secret.

Rules: Post the (title) and “first line” of all the files in your WIP  folder. Let people send you an ask with the # that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it!

1. (The Veiled Lady of Hise)

She knew Hamin would be waiting for her when she disembarked, and that knowledge alone was enough to make the last day of her voyage more interminably long than the three weeks that preceded it. 

2. (Liquid Courage)

When the smoke had cleared, Verity went up to the battlements to draw. 

3. (The Shepherdess in Green)

On the night of the masquerade ball, Verity was wearing her great, frothy green confection of a dress, and leaning most reluctantly on her husband's arm. 

4. (The Island at the Center of the Lake)

Traveling in a carriage with all the windows shuttered was unpleasant enough, stifling and hot, with no air to breathe, and the jolt and jostle of every pebble in the road shuddering through the axle and right through her bones. 

5. (The Kingfisher Seal)

Dion was baffled to be pulled away from his fencing practice by a grim-faced footman, and even more baffled when the man insisted that there was no time for him to wash or change.

6. (Happy Circumstances)

Other than the lavish ballrooms and extensive gardens, one of the new palace's most attractive features was its many guest bedrooms. 

7. (Yesterday Morning Seems So Long Ago)

Alek had been charged with getting her out of the city immediately, and he took his duties to heart.

8. (Swan Mother)

"She will be around in short order," he had been told, and nothing more, until eventually a passing footman took pity on him and escorted him to an arbor within sight of the palace stables.

9. (Cloudburst)

On the day after their return to Starfall City, Verity climbed the tallest tower in the Old Palace.

10. (Clean Little Secret)

Falling in love with Breden Reaper was a study in disappointment.

11. (Loose Ends)

"I don't know why I'm always in Windhelm during Frostfall," declared Corinne as she strode into the New Gnisis Cornerclub, "but I am.”

12. (Snowfall, chapter 6)

When they'd ended the previous evening and turned in, Allegra had promised Clarmont she would return to the subject of, as she had termed it, the last summer of her childhood.

13. (Cameo)

Whatever trick it was that gave time on Vail Isle its curiously elastic qualify, Allegra found, was as fully in play as ever, as she was nearing the end of her sixth week on the island.

14. (untitled 7KPP/Killjoys crossover)

From the very first there were rumors about the Wellin princess.

15. (A Dance in Seven Steps)

In the first: they met for tea.

16. (Persephone's Handmaiden)

No one expected kuria Hekate to appear at the fourth Harrowing.

17. (Living in the Red)

Allegra was dressing for dinner when Otto came into the room, sitting at her vanity with a brush in one hand and a mouth full of hair pins.

18. (The Lighthouse)

The lighthouse at Wend Harbor was almost two hundred years old when it ceased to be used for its original function, at least a decade before Verity's arrival in Revaire.

19. (Bad Influence)

Ophaesia's capital of Pytensia was a city of riches, luxury, and countless diversions.

20. (”BFS [redacted] scene”, chapter 70-something)

One night, in early Morning Star, Corinne woke in the dead of night to find her bedroom dark as pitch, and a ghost hovering over her bed.

21. (”BFS - Barenziah”, chapter 70-something)

"By the way," said Corinne conversationally, as she reached into the wardrobe to pull out a pair of boots, "when Aicantar was leading me through Calcelmo's lab, I saw a strange magenta gem in a little box.”

22. (other ”BFS [redacted] scene”, chapter Lord-only-knows)

When Thongvor had announced that he was riding to Windhelm, Thonar decided to invite himself along.

...

...

I’m... almost sure that’s all of them. Well. I do have a few multi-chapter works that are officially abandoned and thus not in the WIP folder(s). I included none of those. But there are quite a few stories here that aren’t likely ever to be finished.

I have a problem, yes, but it’s actually under much better control than it used to be.

Except for the fact that between starting this post and finishing it, I started another WIP.

[ellebeebee]

Fear

Sabine again, and I thought I’d look at her particular fears as a Revairan in uncertain times.

1734 words, no pairing, Revaire!mc, general

-

As she “guided” them through the hedge maze, Sabine waited several little meaningless tête-à-tête exchanges about the merits of getting lost, the scandal of being suspected of running away with each other, etc., before she broached the topic she’d been keeping on the tip of her tongue since the welcome feast.

“I’ve been meaning to say-- I believe we have a mutual friend,” she glanced up.

Clarmont smiled genially. “Oh?”

They did not move in the same circles.  The times they’d crossed paths at court could be counted on one hand.  Her glittering world of social seasons was quite apart from his sedate country life.  That they would have a mutual friend was indeed, worthy of an “Oh?”

Even an unsurprised one.

“Jan Allard.  The writer,” she smiled back. “He has the most interesting conversation, don’t you think?”

“Very much so.  Quite a character,” Clarmont said. “I must confess, though.  His treatises are a bit beyond me.”

She laughed lightly. “They certainly are for me.  But somehow I think you are being a little modest, my lord.”

“Oh, no.  I am afraid I am hopeless beyond the small matters of a country estate.  High econcomics and such send me off snoozing in my armchair.  And I suspect, my lady, that it is you who is being modest.”

“Modest?  Me?  How scandalous.”

He laughed low in his throat.

“But that does remind me,” he said. “When I saw Jan last, he told me to send you his regards.”

Sabine’s light hand on his arm directed them down yet another dead end.  They turned about, and a warm breeze brushed the back of their necks.  She remained silent for a moment.

“That was kind of him,” she said.  She stared ahead. “I have not seen him in some time, and did not get the chance to give my farewells.  You would have seen him… last month, yes?  I believe he was staying with you.”

Clarmont said nothing for a long stretch.

Like every month, last month had been awfully quiet on his estate, save for his guest.  It had not been so quiet in the capital, however.  Oh, not for the nobility, of course.  The court’s favored, anyway.  The parties and luncheons and theatricals continued on.  But in the city’s lower streets, the common people’s squares ran red.  A new batch of anarchists and radicals had been rounded up by the Crown, and dealt with.  Including that nuisance of an anti-monarchist pamphlet writer, The Fox.  The Fox had swung, along with his fellow instigators, from the gallows before a sullen-eyed crowd.

There was a secret that the Crown hadn’t sniffed out, though.  The Fox was not the man they caught, but rather Jan Allard.

Which he knew she knew.  And which she knew he knew she knew.  And so on, and so forth.

Clarmont smiled. “Yes.  I kept him for as long as I could, but I’m afraid he was more than pleased to finally escape the dullness of my land for his usual haunts.”

Sabine smiled. “Oh, I doubt very much that is true--”

They continued on their stroll through the idyllic gardens until teatime.

-

“There’s been a change,” Sayra said quietly.  She stood to the side with the corset in her hands and the laces draped over the shoulder of her neat black jacket.

Sabine had her arms halfway raised to let her begin help dressing her.  She turned her head over her shoulder to Sayra.

“A change?”

Sayra pulled the corset over her shift, and Sabine held it against her breast as she began to lace the back.

Sayra lowered her voice. “Lady Pema is planning on visiting Princess Gisette before Lady Naomi’s morning tea.  The princess plans to pressure her into taking her along to the tea.”

A presumptuous move by the princess-- to intrude uninvited-- but people were often left with no other options with her than ‘Yes’ or ‘Yes.’  That Sayra should know such intimate information was becoming less of a surprise as the days went by.

Sabine gazed across the room and let Sayra work, threading the dozens of eyelets with a practiced ease.  Ria had left already after finishing her hair and makeup, and Jasper would be at the door soon.  She felt all her lumps settling into a comfortable and familiar position as Sayra tied off the corset’s laces.

“Could you get the pink day dress instead?” Sabine said. “I think I will send my regrets to Lady Naomi.  I’ve a bit of a headache coming on.”

Sayra did not pause as she silently went to the wardrobe to put back the visiting gown and all of its accompanying underthings.

As they pulled pink dress’s matching petticoat carefully over her head, so as not to disturb her hair, Sabine caught her dark eyes.

“Thank you, dear.”

Sayra blinked placidly and tied off one side of the petticoat. “Not at all, my lady.”

-

The stablehand patted Butterscotch’s wide flank.  The horse’s tail barely flicked.  He was, truthfully, only a step above a plow horse in temperament.  But the Lady Sabine of Revaire had been requesting the most docile and slowest beast they could find ever since her accident, and so Butterscotch was pulled from his quiet life of grazing placidly on the rare occasion that she was invited to a ride.  She accepted these invitations with some reluctance, it seemed.

The stablehand took a cloth handed to him by the boy assigned to follow him about on duty as part of training.  The boy took his own cloth and began helping him wiping down Butterscotch’s broad sides.

The Isle stables were beautiful.  Straight-cut beams lofted high, and groundskeepers kept the white mortar of the walls neat and clean.  Broad strokes of sunlight painted the smooth rock floor, let in by the tall windows set with real glass.  These horses lived better than many humans, truthfully.

Over the perfume of new hay being laid down and the chatter of the others working, the stablehand and the boy groomed Butterscotch.

A flurry of something drew his eye to a window.  He dusted the front of his breeches and went to the glass.  The stablehand blinked, his cheeks shifting.

He gestured to the boy to continue working on Butterscotch as he slipped out the stables’ grand double doors.

The area around the stables was of course manicured and arrayed to suit the aesthetic sensibilities of the nobility; pretty trees and intricate little awnings provided shade over several seating areas.

A lady and lord stood by one of these very seating areas and its ornamental topiary.  Their body language and distant sound of chatter read as light and friendly, even if the lord leaned in a rather looming-way and held his shoulders and nose rather high.  You’d think they were indeed just chatting, but you could never know with this lot.  Especially with that crown prince of Revaire and the very lady of Revaire whose horse he’d been currying.

She’d apparently lingered after her ride in order to rest-- riding being a practice in containing reluctance for her-- and Prince Jarrod had happened by.

Unseen, the stablehand watched a moment.  He grabbed a large broom and rounded the corner of the stables toward the gentil paved yard.  He pushed the stiff bristles against the pale stone tiles and whistled a jaunty tune.  He felt them take notice and dipped his hat respectfully.  The prince frowned and the lady blinked.  The stablehand replaced his hat and continued, whistling ever louder.

He saw out of the corner of his eye as the prince turned back, his cocky posture and whatever his line of cocky words had been interrupted and not so much in stride.  The lady straightened and said something.  The prince retorted.  A short exchange followed.  The prince finally turned with an overly-dramatic swirl of his cape and stalked away.  A bit of red marked his pale cheeks.

The stablehand continued sweeping.  A pair of trim boots and the embroidered hem of a riding habit swished into his view.

He bowed slightly. “My lady.”

Lady Sabine ran a hand over her skirts as she gazed at him. “I owe you my thanks.”

“My lady?” he said.

She raised a dark brow.

He tapped the ground with the broom. “Just doing my job, my lady.”

“Then you have fortuitous timing,” she said.

She tilted her head back to study him.  Her brow knitted. “You…”

The stablehand waited with a vague smile.

“It would be good…” Lady Sabine started. “I mean, I would very much appreciate it if this incident remained here.  And did not reach the ears of our friend.”

He considered this.  He was no player of the guests’ rotten games, but there was no mistaking who she meant.  Their mutual companion at the servants’ gambling tables.  Her eyes were stuck to his expression with uncertainty pinching her lips.

“I can do that, my lady,” the stablehand said. “But, pardon the presumption-- not much of a way to have a beginning.  With un-truths.”

Her eyes widened.  And then her shoulders went sort of limp as she huffed a small laugh. “I suppose you are right-- well, you are very right actually.” She popped open a fan to shield her face from the sun as she smiled. “I owe you my thanks twice it seems.”

“Not at all, my lady.”

The fan’s shadow cast her features into a sort of soft painterly picture.  She peered at him.  Looking for something, seemed like.

“It’s just…” she said. “Well.  It’s a bit embarrassing, I have to admit.”

He shrugged.  Studied her back. “I didn’t see anything embarrassing.  I mean.  Pardon me, but the prince is… something, right?”

Her eyes shifted, and she lowered her voice. “Well.  Yes.  But I am fortunate, aren’t I?  Unlike others.”

The quiet of her voice echoed the quiet steps and quiet looks of laundry girls, maids.  He nodded.

“We all have our own ways, my lady,” he said.

They paused quietly.  No one was about; most of the stable workers were inside tending to the steeds of the nobility after their morning rides.  If anyone would pass by, they might look strange.  The lady met his eyes, and their words turned into a silent acknowledgement.  She stepped back.

She sighed. “Well, I must be away.  Until next time, dear.”

“My lady.”

She walked away, and the stablehand went back to Butterscotch.

[teaandinanity]

Day 1 - Past

For 7KPP Week 2017!  

And then I accidentally mini-fic’d instead of just copying in-game text for a description WHUPS.

A happy moment? 

He doesn’t ask for much, Calanthia thinks wryly, taking a sip of her tea to buy herself a moment and to give Lord Clarmont the option of politely ignoring her small satirical smile. Maybe it truly wouldn’t be ‘much’ for anyone else, anyone from a country that didn’t devour its young. For anyone from a family that didn’t view their progeny as an investment or a resource, every bit as much as the sheep. Clarmont cannot help but know the first, and has certainly inferred the latter; she wonders, a little, why he asked.

That will come clear in time, no doubt. She does have one moment of uncomplicated joy that springs readily to mind - and moreover, one it costs her nothing to offer up over tea. This one moment of long-ago happiness isn’t a vulnerability to be exploited, even if he were the type to take advantage… and she’s fairly sure her initial assessment was correct, and he is not.

She studies Clarmont over the rim of her teacup and thinks,

Very well.

She settles her cup neatly in its saucer before she begins,

“It was cold that winter; bitterly cold. My parents were making a halfhearted effort at frugality that year, by which I mean ‘not lighting most of the fireplaces even when the water in the troughs was freezing almost a hand-span thick every night.’ My siblings spent a lot of time in the kitchen by the stove, since it was kept going at all hours. It was the only place in the house we always knew for sure would be warm. On this particular afternoon, though, Emmaline and Portia and I were in the library, huddled together under a quilt while we told each other stories - our parents had sold off most of the books by then. In a lull, it dawned on all of us how quiet it was. It was a blanketing silence, the kind that has a physical presence, the kind you hesitate to break. Em crept to the window, then ran back and grabbed Portia and me by the hands and towed us over, too, still in total silence. None of us spoke, but we watched with a kind of wonder as white flakes came falling down; snow. The first snow any of us had ever seen. We could hear it, there at the window, hissing and hushing and whispering to itself. It took several minutes to realize that we could go out and feel it, not just see and hear. Portia categorically refused to set foot out of doors, but Em and I stuffed our bare feet into worn boots and bundled each other in every single one of the scarves left by the door and whichever pair of gloves nearly fit, then ran right out into it. The powder crunched underfoot and we took those first few steps like newborn lambs, clumsy in our uncertainty, and then turned up our faces to the silver winter sky and tried to catch the flakes on our tongues…

“We laughed and danced until the snow underfoot was churned into mud and our toes burned from the cold. I don’t think either of us cared about the scolding we got for coming in soggy and tracking in dirt and damp.”

She remembers Emmaline grinning up at her, pink-cheeked from cold and delight both, and feels a little tug of homesickness. She doesn’t miss the ancestral pile or her parents - has felt nothing but relief to be well away from both - but someday she would like to have the power to see to it that her sisters look that happy for more than an hour at a time.

“Thank you,” Clarmont says, and she blinks back into the warm, candle-lit room with a bit of surprise. It’s funny, the power good memories have. So many of the bad ones are gray and drawn and distant. He continues,

“I remember that winter, but my memories of it are not so kind. I think… I think I feel better knowing that they were a good time for someone.”

Calanthia studies him and notes the strain around his eyes. He does understand, after all.

Revaire eats her young, these days - or tries.

And now they’re here, two who escaped her teeth and claws, with a lever and a fulcrum set at the foot of the world. They can change that. 

She smiles again, and there’s nothing sharp or sardonic about it this time, although it is absolutely a baited trap.

She won’t be asking much, either. He wanted a happy memory. She wants to change the world, and he understands why they must.

[prismsession]

Hey-yo

Okie dokie lets do this *rolls up sleeves*

(im so late orz sry ayase is busy/lazy)

9) Ah yes, Forte’s mother. I actually have a headcanoned design that I can’t draw up right now but yea...

Her real name was Joanne - a strapping young lass and pirate prodigy who was secretly the mushiest pile of romantic goo ever. Of course, her entire crew knew this, and since their captain was too proud to admit that she wanted to settle down and have a family, they teamed up and kidnapped a Wellish lord for her (yeah, wasn’t really the most thought out plan). They couldn’t really just take him back (Jail? No thank you), and said lord didn’t have anyone who’d ransom him back (dude kinda lived a sad life) Lucky for Blackthorn’s crew, the two actually kinda hit if off so things kinda worked out??? They were married in a year and expecting a child after a few months. 

After the pregnancy announcement dropped, Joanne took a break from pirating, bought a nice house, and settled down with her husband to raise their daughter. Her crew still went on pirating excursions, but often stopped by with new toys and dresses for her daughter who they’d decided to appoint their princess and spoil absolutely rotten. Joanne tried to stop them, but none of them were particularly good listeners.

She’s an independent lady who many would say was good at everything. Sailing, sword fighting, cooking, singing, even haggling at the market, you name it, the lady could get it done. In general, she was always cheerful, a bit of a prankster, and secret romantic. Because of her exploits, most people assumed she was this cold, ruthless bandit , but she loved her daughter and dopey husband as much as she loved the sea. 

13) Count Arthur of Holt was an intellectual to the core. However, because of this rather “nontraditional” views on things such as gender roles, most people dismissed him as another eccentric. 

Before his wife’s death/Fate’s birth he spent a lot of his time travelling for the crown as a diplomat. Between trips he worked tirelessly to better the lives of his people. Ask anyone in Holt and they would tell you that the late Count was a great man of magnanimous character. 

After the death of his wife, he retired from diplomacy to focus on Holt and raising his daughter. He made a promise to his dying wife that he’d let their child grow up up into whatever she wanted. Because of that and his general policy that more knowledge is better, he let Fate study whatever she wanted, even if he had to search all of Wellin and bribe tutors to do something as “uncouth” as teach a lady how to defend herself. 

(Fate still had to take basic “how to be a lady” lessons though, even if she hated them. Whether he liked it or not, these were necessary skills to surviving in society.)

He was a stern man and many people would initially think of him as aloof before getting to know him. Outside of his duties though, he would relax a lot more, even crack a couple of dry jokes. Very strict with his daughter, especially in regards to her studies, but would secretly dote on her every now and then. Fate was his pride and joy after all. 

He died about in the winter, about a year before the Summit from illness. On his deathbed, he had his daughter promise him she’d stay true to herself no matter what. His last words: ”Thank you. It’s what your mother would have wanted too.”

19) Gonna talk about Elise and Clarmont since that’s the only one I’ve played extensively besides ElisexLisle and that is just going to be a pile of bittersweet angst that I’m not gonna deal with today… (tho tbh EliseClarmont isn’t much better “>u>)

So, in another world where Elise somehow decides to not listen to her head and just follow her heart (I actually had a fic about this planned for 7kpp week orz) she decides to not pursue Lisle and spend her week 3 date with Clarmont le gasp.

(MC backstory for those who don’t know… Elise’s only goal is to marry out of Corval into a position of power in a stable country. She’s doing this so she can use her newfound influence to move her mother and aunt out of Corval’s inner court into a comfortable, peaceful life. Obviously, Revaire is anything but stable and Queen of Wellin is pretty much the perfect scenario. She liked to both Lisle and Clarmont enough and was probably falling a little for both of them, but if it came down to pure attraction, Clarmont won out.)

Quite frankly, he makes her feel like she’s living in a fairy tale. The stolen glances, quiet flirtations, it’s enough make her forget everything else in the world, even all of the Summit’s stresses, existed.

Of course, she can’t spend every second of her time with him, and unfortunately, when they are apart she’s tearing herself up inside out of guilt. What’s going to happen to her mother and aunt now? She passed up on her best chance to save them so she could have this happiness for herself but… she didn’t deserve this… she shouldn’t be… 

*ahem* yea elise is designated angst mc 

22) You could say Dulche and her first husband were barely married. For starters, their marriage was always meant to be purely political. After their wedding, Dulche did almost anything she could to stay away from their estate, or at least make it so their schedules never matched up. Not to say that her husband was terrible, at least to her, but he was frankly, quite oblivious to the suffering of the common folk. (A supporter of the Gisette/Jarrod’s parents, well known at court, and in good graces with the royal family.) 

Dulche’s husband treated her fairly well and gave free access to his large fortune, though from the way he bragged to his acquaintances, he really only saw her as another pretty prize he’d won. Actually, spoiling her by sending her on frequent vacations and showering her with expensive gifts was probably just another way for him to show off his wealth and status. Dulche didn’t really care though. If anything, it made her job a lot easier. All she had to do was smile and coo over how wonderful her husband to please him. 

She didn’t really feel anything when he died. It may as well have been the passing of a total stranger. Obviously, she grieved (or at least, pretended to) as much as was deemed acceptable before moving on with her schemes.

[birdmanart]

Since I’m in PST, it’s not actually Christmas yet... but hey! It’s Christmas somewhere (actually, many somewheres), so I should! Post! This! Hey! NextTrickAnvils! For some reason I can’t? Tag you? But here’s your gift for the 7KPP Secret Santa! I hope I did Loriela justice :)

@7kppsecretsanta

[bee-a-garbage-shipper]

Cornelia: You often use humor to deflect trauma.

Clarmont: Thank you.

Cornelia: I didn't say that was a good thing.

Clarmont: What I'm hearing is, you think I'm funny.

[angstmongertina]

contrast

I love how I thought to myself “Oh, I should do something simple for opulent since I have an exam I want to take tomorrow” and instead ended up with like three scenes. It’s fine. We’re FINE. The exam is open notes anyway.

At last, my ability to actually incorporate dialogue has returned from the war, even if my ability to write things quickly and finish on time did not.

Day Twenty One: Opulent

AO3 Link

The journey to arrive at her new home took more than a few hours but despite all of the activity of the day, she could not find herself able to doze off. It was of no fault of the carriage, richly decorated for both appearance and comfort, such as she could barely feel the bumps along the roads they traversed, but try as she might, she remained stubbornly awake.

Whether it was the fault of her situation or the heavy, elaborate gown she had been dressed in for the ceremony, not even she could be sure.

Her new husband, thankfully, had no such qualms; he had fallen asleep not long after the first hour of their journey, leaving her blessedly alone with only her own thoughts for company. Just as she liked it.

Still, it was almost a relief when they turned off the main roads in favor of passing through a thickly wooded path. She sat up, barely noticing when her husband blinked awake and offered her a smile that was as salacious as it was unctuous. Instead, when they turned a corner and the grounds of her new home came into view, she turned to face the window, hands fisted into her lap as she stared.

While the estate of her childhood had been a castle of crumbling stone and musty corridors, of lands that had long since been bled dry of wealth, the barony before her was bright and plentiful. Fields, golden and luscious, stretched as far as she could see, a wealth of treasure that was almost extravagant in its abundance. Birds and small creatures darted through the trees. A stately mansion overlooked it all, all white stone and majestic stature, sitting with impeccable form, the trophy upon an already unspeakable richness.

And she was now mistress of it all. The thought was enough to bring a smile to her lips as Baron Namaire helped her from the carriage, his eyes sweeping over her form, as he led her through the rooms, hands lingering just too long against her bare skin. As he commanded her time for the night, to do that which was expected of his new bride.

It was all worth it.

It had to be.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After her transition from the genteel poverty of her childhood to the wealth of her husband’s estate, Morgaine had thought that she had been prepared for her arrival at court.

She was wrong.

Picking her way through the crowd, she slowly traversed through the room, keeping an eye out for any familiar faces. Around her, young lords and ladies wheedled away their time, with hardly a care in the world, and no doubt blissfully ignorant of the whispers that threatened their very livelihoods. She was almost envious of that level of unawareness, caring only for the daily gossip and the most recent fashion. It would certainly have been a simpler life than the one she had carved for herself.

Then again, she would not even recognize the woman she’d have been had she been afforded such luxury.

Taking a deep breath, she glanced about her surroundings. When she had first arrived, the parlors and ballrooms within the royal palace had seemed almost comically large, an astronomical waste of space for the more intimate gatherings held within that could have been put towards better use, or so she had thought. But still, she had plastered a smile to her face, meeting with the other young lords and ladies, the wealthy sons and daughters of ruling nobles, learning of their circumstances and interests, beliefs and ignorances.

Despite the famed fickleness of the wealthy, gaining the trust of the Revairan elite had turned out to be simply a matter of a listening ear and a well-placed falsehood, an almost disappointingly simple challenge compared to the tasks of investigating the whispers of rebellion. And so she had climbed, rising in the ranks until she found herself invited to the upper echelons of court, winning the adulations of many and, more prestigiously, an invitation to a ball held in the royal prince and princess’ honor.

For one of her aspirations, it would have been societal suicide to turn down the offer. Between the whispers about the potential delegates for the Seven Kingdoms Summit and the opportunity to discover more about her fellow noblemen, it was hardly an imposition.

A flash of tanned skin and dark red caught her attention, a now familiar figure after her repeated investigations into the rebellion’s active members, and the slightest hint of a predatory smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth before she set off across the room in pursuit.

Besides, the general foolishness of those around her only made those who had some level of competency all the more interesting.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was strange to be back on Revairan soil.

When she had first accepted the invitation to attend the Summit, it was with the knowledge that her goals were first to identify more information about the rebellion, second to earn reputation and respect from the royal family, and third to find an advantageous match for herself, preferably one that allowed her to leave the reach of a land that seemed to care even less for her than she did for it.

She certainly had not anticipated returning in the arms of the very man she had gone to shadow, one who watched her with a mix of soft affection and nervous anticipation. Tilting her head up to meet his gaze more fully, she raised a single eyebrow.

“What is it?”

She laughed, settling more comfortably against him and reaching a lazy hand up to brush a strand of hair away from his eyes. “What’s on your mind? And don’t try to deny it.”

He made a face, even as his chest rumbled with the strength of his chuckle. “Am I truly so obvious?”

“Only to me.” The retort was easy, familiar, and she let her eyes flutter shut as he leaned down to brush his lips against her forehead, though she opened them the next second when he pulled away. “Do not think such shoddy attempts at misdirection can get you out of answering my question, though.”

“It’s nothing.” When she only stared at him, he coughed, the faintest hint of a flush crossing his face. “Nothing serious, at least.”

“I’m afraid you’ll find that only intrigues me more, not less, my lord.”

He shook his head, though the fond exasperation in his eyes only served to warm her heart. “I suppose I should have been expecting that. I promise it’s only the pointless concerns of a besotted fool.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but before she could, he stiffened, sitting upright so abruptly that his chin collided with her forehead. Wincing, she pressed a hand to her forehead but said nothing as she followed his gaze out the window.

Before her, the land seemed to almost rise to meet her gaze. Rolling hills dotted with flowers, small fields, and a brightly emerald woods stretched out across the land, almost dwarfing the manor itself. As the carriage drove past, faces turned towards them, open and cheerful at the return of their master. One bright, discerning eye caught hers with a wink before a splitting wolf whistle echoed through the air, and she nearly choked on her laughter at the mortification that suffused Clarmont’s face.

His cheeks were still somewhat red as he helped her out of the carriage, eyes roaming over her features with endearing hesitance. “It’s not much compared to the capital, or even your former barony, but…”

“Hush.” She stretched upward, cutting him off with a quick kiss. “It’s perfect.”

A grin blossomed across his face, warm and contagious, as he bowed over her hand. “Well, in that case, welcome home.”

[mendedwings]

Day 4-Present

This was entirely too fun to write. Clarmont was way easier to get a handle on than I expected, and Adie is just... well, Adie.

She’d promised not to worry. She’d promised. It had, in fact, been one of the last things she’d said to Henrietta and Clifton as she left Holt in their very capable hands. And yet, here she was, perched cross-legged on one of the parlor sofas, fingers worrying the edges of a letter from home.

“Ariadne?” The sofa shifted slightly as Clarmont sat next to her, blue eyes concerned. “Is everything alright? You look worried.”

“It’s nothing,” she sighed. “A small issue back home. But I’m certain my staff can handle it. One of my ladies’ maids just thought I should know.”

“You actually have ladies’ maids?” he teased.

She rolled her eyes and bopped him with the folded letter. “They come with the title of Countess. I have a couple.” Not nearly as many as I should, to hear some people talk. “And I thought I told you you could call me Adie.”

“You did, but Ariadne is such a pretty name,” Clarmont said, flashing one of his warm smiles.

“It’s also so formal,” Adie shot back with a wry smile of her own. “And the name my father used when I was in trouble, and what Henrietta still uses when she feels I need a lecture on propriety and ladylikeness. Thus, I prefer Adie.”

“Then Adie it shall be,” Clarmont promised. “So then, Adie, what’s this small issue back home? You look like you at the very least need to vent. And I’m always willing to be a listening ear.”

She smiled, twisting a blonde curl around her finger as she took him up on the offer. “There’s a baron with lands adjoining mine who’s always been a little miffed my father’s holdings passed to a ‘lowly’ daughter instead of being divvied up like a cooked goose when he died. He tried to buy at least part of it from me outright twice. When I told him no; these lands belonged to my family and I was perfectly capable of running them, he started trying to shift the border a couple yards at a time. Every time, I correct him, he faux-apologizes, then waits a few months and does it again. He apparently saw my leaving for the Summit as an opportunity.” Her smile turned dark. “Probably expecting I would marry someone of higher rank and never come back.”

Clarmont chuckled. “Just shows how well he knows you.”

Adie laughed. “Any way, he’s encroaching again, Clifton went to give him a stern reminder, and Chloe just felt I should be informed.” She leaned forward, huffing wisps of hair out of her eyes. “Clifton’s handling it, I can’t do anything, so there’s no real point in worrying.”

“That’s an admirable attitude.” Clarmont’s eyes twinkled. “How long do you think you can keep it up?”

“Oh, a couple days, tops,” Adie confessed with a wry laugh. “But I know I have someone else depending on me being clear-headed, so I”ll manage somehow.”

“I have every confidence in you,” he assured her as he stood and offered her a hand up. Adie let him be chivalrous and help her to her feet, and he kissed her hand before they went their separate ways.

>>.<<

She tried to stay focused, she really did. But Chloe’s letter wouldn’t budge from the back of her mind, and Adie kept wondering if she couldn’t have done something to safeguard her lands. Let Jeremy and Daniel build the boundary marker posts, taken Henrietta’s advice to say something after the baron’s third or fourth attempt to steal her land. But she’d been too stubborn. Too sure he’d give up if he realized she was onto him. Too afraid broadcasting the news would make it look like she wasn’t capable. And now she was distracted enough by the ‘should’ve’s she barely managed to put together a successful defense for Imogen’s trial. And her mind wandered no fewer than three times as she and Clarmont sat in the gazebo that evening.

“Adie.” Clarmont gently nudged her shoulder to pull her back to the present.

“Sorry,” she smiled sheepishly. “Just indulging in a little hindsight.”

“Still worrying about the letter?”

“I can’t help it,” Adie groaned. “I promised my father I would do a good job, take care of our lands, and I feel like I’m letting him down.”

“That’s normal,” Clarmont assured her. “But you aren’t. You are doing the very best you can for your people.”

“But what if my best isn’t good enough?” Adie pulled on the tail of her braid.

“Then you trust your people to help bridge the gap. From the way you describe your staff, you obviously care about them, and they do about you. I’m sure they’re handling things with you away, right?”

She nodded. “Clifton probably gave Baron Stealypants what-for. And Clifton in a ‘giving what-for’ mood is a very scary sight.”

“There you go.” He rubbed her arm comfortingly. “I’m sure it’s fine. But... Baron Stealypants?”

“I won’t do him the courtesy of using his proper name,” Adie sniffed, eyes glinting with mischief.

“I can see why your people love you,” Clarmont murmured, making her flush bright red. In revenge, she leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek. It had the desired effect, leaving her intended just as flustered and speechless as she was. He cleared his throat. “It’s getting late, and I shouldn’t keep you, love.”

“Oh, you can keep me as long as you like,” Adie winked, her grin widening when he went even redder. “But you do have a point. It’s late, and if I’m not back soon, Jasper may well go on the warpath. I’ve found it in my best interest not to let it get that far.”

Clarmont laughed. “Kind, brave, and wise. Tell me again why it is you settled for me?”

“Well, first off, I don’t see it as settling. Because I want someone to be my partner,” she reminded him as she stood. “Facing things together. And I’ve seen plenty of evidence you are kind and brave. All that remains is proving your wisdom.”

“You’ll be a long time waiting on that, I fear,” he said wryly. “The smartest thing I’ve ever done is fall for you, and even that may prove far from wise-”

“Hey!” Adie protested, crossing her arms.

“-Due to the danger I might put you in,” Clarmont finished, sad smile playing about his lips as he rose. “You know Revaire is... not safe right now. Putting you in harm’s way seems far from wise.”

“I can take anything your scary country throws at me,” she retorted, arms still crossed.

“I believe you. But I still wish I could shield you from it, all the same.” He kissed her forehead. “Good night, Adie.”

“What, you’re going to let me walk back to my rooms unescorted? I thought you were a gentleman, Lord Clarmont,” Adie said in mock-horror, eyes twinkling with mirth. 

“And I thought you didn’t accept acts of chivalry, Countess Ariadne,” he returned, his own gaze equally mischievous as he offered her his arm.

Adie shrugged cheerfully, slipping her arm through his. “Anything to spend a few more minutes with my intended.”

Clarmont laughed at that, a quiet but honest sound, and they made the walk back to her rooms in companionable silence.

>>.<<

“I want to give him something,” Adie declared, barely a second after the door closed behind her.

Jasper looked up and raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

“Cl- Lord Clarmont,” she said, curling the end of her braid around her finger. “I mean, we’re hopefully getting married, and giving him something--’specially something traditionally Wellin--would help... bolster that, right?”

“What did you have in mind?” Jasper asked, tone neutral.

Adie bit her lip in thought for a moment, perching on the edge of her bed. Finally, her eyes lit up. “A puppy. He loves animals, Wellin’s known for its hunting dogs, it’s perfect!”

“I believe a puppy would make a better gift post-Summit, Countess,” Jasper said gently.

Adie groaned in frustration and flopped back on the bed, only to immediately bolt upright. “A horse! I could give him a horse!”

“Again, better given post-Summit, my lady. “Jasper shook his head, smiling slightly at her enthusiasm. 

“You’re no fun,” she huffed, yawning on the heels of the words. “Guess I’ll have to sleep on it.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Jasper assured her, leaving the room so Ria and Sayra could help her get ready for bed.

She could only hope he was right.

[bee-a-garbage-shipper]

Ivory: Why are your tongues purple?

Cornelia: We had slushies. I had a blue one.

Clarmont: I had a red one.

Ivory: Oh. 

Ivory:

Ivory: OH! 

Lyon:

Lyon: You drank each other's slushies?

[angstmongertina]

Impressions (7KPP)

After talking with @teaandinanity about Widows, my finger slipped and now I’m deep in Widow hell and have two (2) new Widows to romance Clarmont and Lyon. This is all her fault. :P

Lady Morgaine is a result of me deciding I wanted to make a Widow with a horrible backstory, as well as a selfish, immoral Widow who was at the Summit in part to investigate Lord Clarmont as a part of the Revairan rebellion, only to fall in love with him. And because of the angst potential, she has risen to become one of my favorite ships. Go figure.

AO3 Link

There were a few things that Lady Morgaine, Dowager Baroness Namaire, knew to be true regarding Lord Clarmont of Revaire.

She knew that despite his favor with the royal family, he had a reputation for being a recluse at court, hardly showing up for social functions, at least in the year that she had been there. She knew through… organizing her now late husband’s correspondence that there were darker forces at play within the power struggles of the kingdom, forces in which the lord more than likely had his own involvement. She had seen and heard enough in the past two weeks to know that he had additional interests, that the same plots which swirled around the Revairan throne existed too at the Summit, with him in their midst.

She knew that Lord Clarmont was dangerous, that his conspiracy threatened the carefully constructed position that she had given up so much to achieve for herself. He was a threat in every sense of the word, to her and to her position and goals.

He was also nothing like she would have expected from the shadowy figure who haunted the Crown with the quiet threats of revolution. Quiet and controlled though he may have been, he was also oddly trusting and disarmingly sincere, a combination that could no doubt win him allies, but also allowed individuals with less savory ideals, individuals like her, to infiltrate his defenses and gain access to his thoughts. A handful of blithe lies, some basic observational skills, a smile or two at just the right time, and the man had turned into putty in her capable hands.

It would almost have been disappointing if it weren’t so convenient.

Then again, there was something to be said for the fact that at least something had gone right in the past two weeks. It was one thing to be dismissed so summarily by the Matchmaker—that, at least, she could and would prove the woman wrong on—but between the sheer audacity of someone to attempt to blackmail her on the Isle and what was likely a separate attempt to kill her by way of out of control horse, one that she was beginning to suspect was set up by the daughter of the very family she was supporting through her investigations…

Gritting her teeth at the sudden wave of anger that swept, fiery hot, through her veins, she marched out of the castle. There were too many people inside, too much conversation and general noise, between the bustle of servants and the chatter of the other delegates, apparently intent on spilling all of their secrets to others under the foolish guise of friendship, under that naive concept of trust. Instead, she found herself crossing the grass, moving with so much fierce intent that a figure she belatedly recognized as Emmett leapt out of her path without so much as a greeting.

Not that she was in the mood to offer him much of one in the first place.

It was not until she had made her way into the gardens that she slowed, feeling her body relax as the sounds and sights of the castle disappeared, replaced by hedges and flowerbeds that shone in brilliant colors, some of which she had never seen before, in her small corner of Revaire. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine that she was alone, far from the pressures of the Summit and the threats to her livelihood and…

“Lady Morgaine?”

She froze, the voice ringing out already familiar after just the scant week and a half. Naturally, if anyone had to be within range, it was him. For a moment, she contemplated turning around, disappearing into the shadows and retreating to her room, far from the expectations of her fellow delegates, but she set her mouth, forcing her limbs into stillness.

She had already done more than her fair share of running in the past years. She would do so no longer.

Instead plastering her most charming smile on her face, she turned, dropping into a proper curtsy. “Why, Lord Clarmont! Good day.” She glanced at the direction from whence he came, towards the hedges which rose easily above her head in a labyrinth, and raised an eyebrow. “Are you lost?”

As she expected, any hint of suspicion disappeared from his face faster than the sun in the bitterest Revairan winter, and he laughed, the sound natural and strangely pleasant. “Do you have so little faith in me that you presume I would get hopelessly lost so close to the entrance, as poetic as that might be?”

She let her eyes widen in a show of innocence. “Not at all, my lord. Only inquiring as to the success in your presumed endeavors.”

“A most pretty way of saying the same thing, I see, but I fear you have made one error in your inquiry.” For a second, she froze, cursing her glib slip of the tongue, before schooling her face into appropriate curiosity, but if he noticed, he gave no sign, instead only chuckling. “You supposed I might answer truthfully though it would be most unbecoming to admit anything but success before as magnificent a lady as yourself.”

In spite of herself, she could feel her body relaxing as she smiled back, this time with all the sincerity that her previous expression lacked. “False flattery, while always appreciated, will not serve to distract me from your lack of answer.”

His eyes seemed to dance as he bowed at her, offering an arm. “Then I suppose I have nothing to it but to prove myself directly, if you are amenable to the offer of an escort.”

She hesitated, taking the time to examine him until he grinned down at her, expression openly boyish. “Unless you would prove your stated faith in myself, not to mention your faith in your own navigational skills, false?”

Reluctantly amused, she dropped into another curtsy, this time in a facsimile of propriety. “Then how can I refuse such a challenge? I suppose I will simply have to thank you kindly, Lord Clarmont.”

It only occurred to her later that, though she learned nothing new from the endeavor, she could not find it in herself to consider the hour spent exploring the gardens a waste of time.