#Revaire Widow

[faejilly]

Sorry for the lack of Finna rambles, the Early Access for 7kpp came out and I had to try and remember how to get my first delegate to her ludicrously successful ending

/it can be such a found family game y'all, I was absolutely flapping my hands at the screen and doing a 😭 face for like an hour 💙💙💙

[awaylaughing]

Not me *finally* completing my first EA-7KPP run having my main take away be "Speaker Andel pretty and weird <333333"

[quilleth]

Now that the 7kpp early access is out and the spoiler ban for weeks 6 and 7 is lifted, i can finally finish and share some of the fics I've been letting simmer for years!!

But they all need to be finished some first. So with that in mind, and the fact i'm off this week...

I haven't played Elisabeth in the early access yet because I'm trying to get some sweet, sweet ng+ bonuses to try to get that special Jasper ending Aly hinted at on the forums on itch, so I don't *really* know how their story ends just yet! And yes a lot of these are ball or ball adjacent; i have been going FERAL about that for SO LONG!! I'm so excited to be able to shriek about that with more people now!!

Other fics that I know I started, but need to find which notebook or file i started them in include: a wedding fic, the aftermath of that week 6 dance lesson, the picnic date that follows this fic, mummy au chapter 2 (remember that? i do. it haunts me xD), and some smut because it's what they deserve after all that ust

[fyeah7kpp]

We'll post this here as well as in the 7KPP fan community (please message me if you want me to add you!)!

We're down to a week before early access is out! To have a countdown and to have some discussion to make the time go faster, we're going to be posting some prompts!

And because we have polls, I figured I might as well add a poll and keep it going until early access is out!

Looking forward to screaming with everyone! (We'll have to implement a spoilers policy soon, I think.)

6 days left!

--Mod Tina

[azalynestudios]

So, I think one of the endings for Widow MC with Zarad insinuates that court politics in Revaire are worse than court politics in Corval/Widow MC transitioned into Corval court smoothly. That was surprising. I assumed Corval politics were the most dangerous and terrible to navigate!

Could you speak a little on the differences between the structure of politics?

While in Corval intrigue and politics is a way of life (a grand game of power, secrets and maneuvering), in post-uprising Revaire, it’s become a bloody game of survival. For all the reign of the new Revaire royals there were massive executions, conflicts, secret police, paranoia neighbor against neighbor, family and friends against family and friends. People’s fate could change drastically at any moment. And there’s often not any rhyme or reason, so everyone is always at risk. Add that the people are buckling under the tyranny and resentment and distrust are at an all time high, attempting to navigate the court is incredibly difficult and dangerous.

Trying to push that mess into a functioning nation? Almost impossible.

[angstmongertina]

7KPP Promptober 2023 Day 2

It's literally day 25 and I finally finished day 2, but it's fine, we're all fine here.

Anyway, for more in the VaLia 'verse with @teaandinanity, I love you! (Even if I will be providing angst next. :D)

Anyway, the day 2 prompt was reason, which I interpreted as "reason why Lia decides to adopt Valya as her sister."

There were rumors circulating about the young widow from Revaire before she even arrived at the Summit. From the moment her position in the Jiyelese delegation was formalized, she received notes and visits from aunties near and far, from advice to thinly veiled demands, only just subtle enough to remain on the side of propriety.

And it seemed nearly half of the communications contained some warning about the dowager baroness of Namaire.

She knew better than to put much stock to rumors; for all Jiyel prided itself as a kingdom run by logic, its people could be far from living up to that ideal, a fact that was only supported by the rumors circling the auntie tea circles about her own late-minute addition. Somehow, it was difficult to take seriously the reports that the woman had married, murdered, and poisoned her way to the Summit when she knew that the same gossipers accused her of blackmail in the next breath. 

Her reluctance to adhere to such advice was immediately validated when she set foot in the room for the pre-feast introductions. Young delegates of all sorts roamed the room, dressed in finery that far outshown her own, leaving her in the perfect position to watch the reactions towards the newly arrived young widow.

With particular emphasis on young.

She comported herself well—she had to, in the face of her reputation and the weight of her past—and her height served her well to provide a dissonance to the fact, but the tightness in the corners of her eyes, the stiff set of her smile, revealed that it was hardship, not age, which had given her experience.

That was made all the more obvious from their interactions. She hadn’t expected any witnesses to her admittedly amusing success at driving away less than savory crown princes from new friends through sheer boredom, and yet the approach of a clearly delighted Lady Valeriya was also not completely unexpected.

Even so, it wasn’t until she ventured to discuss the history of the Summits that the truth became transparent. Widow she may have been, but even more so, with a sudden warmth and enthusiasm at the subject, rivaling Peony at her most delighted, she was also very clearly scarcely older than a child. And, given the wariness behind her dark eyes, the heavy history which already haunted her reputation, a mistreated, terrified child at that.

Through some act of fate, they were seated together during dinner, and her immediate observations only served to confirm her opinion. Lady Valeriya was, no doubt, a slender woman in part from her genetics, and recent surplus had managed to soften the sharpest angles in her features, but Lia knew enough, had been taught enough of the signs, to recognize the reaction of an individual who had been raised with less than reliable sources of food.

Though she hid it well, the hungry manner in which Lady Valeriya examined the food, holding each serving spoon a fraction of a second too long, paired with her knowledge of her marital status and age, already painted a far too vivid image.

Lady Valeriya didn’t deserve that.

Nobody deserved that.

And even more so, Lady Valeriya was… a dear. It seemed strange, almost indecent, to think so of a woman she had only just met, scarcely a few years her younger, but she was, lighting up with just a touch of genuine interest and warmth, with a hint of positive reinforcement. Its implications towards her childhood were therefore all the more heartbreaking, and Lia couldn’t help feeling genuine affection, coaxing the young girl out from under her cold, uncaring exterior. It was certainly a far cry from the woman she had expected the so-called viper of Namaire to be.

She was apparently not alone in that assessment. Unfortunately, however, the young lord from Wellin is far less willing to consider it an exaggeration or a desperate act of self-preservation than a deliberate attempt at manipulation.

The absolute gall of the man to insinuate that a young girl in great need had derived any perverse pleasure in marrying and then being widowed by a much more powerful baron, rather than the much more plausible explanation of it being an act of desperation. And then to imply she had no right to attend the Summit…?

It was, she suspected, meant as a warning on her behalf, perhaps even kindly, if condescendingly meant, but it certainly did nothing to improve her opinion of him, and she only bristled instead. “Your opinion has been noted, my lord, and I thank you for your consideration, but I trust your excellent etiquette extends towards recognizing the folly of believing rumors…? ”

Before he could reply, however, she turned back to the lady in question, who looked for all the world like she was sizing him up for evisceration, and smiled, as warm and gentle as she might with a stray cat. “Lady Valeriya, I apologize on behalf of my seatmate for the truly unmannerly interruption. You were saying…?”

She wasn’t entirely sure what made her outburst more worthwhile, the sputtering of the lord in question, or the shining look in her new friend’s eyes, but either way, she found herself looking forward to the Summit with far more enthusiasm than she had before.

[portman-natalie]

Hey there, your Secret Santa again with some final questions. Can I ask what Julietta's romantic orientation is and one thing she's dreamt of doing?

Oof. I played her as bi (is that bc I'm bi?? MAYBE????).

I think she's always dreamed of being remembered. When she was little, before the Revarian Masacre, she wanted to be part of the royal family. Now she wants to end the new one. Her goal had gone from being remembered for being royal to being remembered for getting rid of a royal.

Outside of the summit though, I think she wants to see places other than Revaire. She loves talking with Emmet about the places he's been and the things he's seen and I think she would like to do that.

[bee-a-garbage-shipper]

Sabine: I can explain.

Lisle: Can you?

Sabine: If you give me thirty seconds to think of a lie.

[altairtalisman]

Disaster OC 2

I have put off fleshing out the second OC for months now... so whoops. She’s not really my main OC, more like... a character that I found to be intriguing after writing a bit about her in ‘Thirty-One Stars And I’ll Catch Them All’.

Name: Lady Willow of Revaire (or Baroness Willow of Namaire)

Age: 26

Hair: Light brown hair that is slightly wavy, reaches around end of back. Usually lets her hair down unless she’s out riding. Hair is neither silky nor coarse, her fringe is almost symmetrical except for one part that’s longer than the others. 

Eyes: Crystal blue-coloured (I have no idea what shade that really is), isn’t sure what’s her eye shape like because they all look the same to her. 

Body: Alabaster skin and a willowy build. Height is at 172 cm (around 5′7″ after conversion), basically she’s tall and slim (weighs slightly lesser than the average woman). Her fingers are slightly bony due to her below average weight, her left ring finger still bears the mark of her wedding ring (that she no longer wears but still keeps just in case). Has a scar on her left cheek, and left forearm after her late husband threw a plate at her, with some of the broken shards successfully injuring her.

Style: Functional. Since she’s from the colder parts of Revaire, she tends to wear clothes that are more suited for cold weather. One thing that she always wear is a navy blue winter coat, which is used to hide her figure and give off an impression that she’s healthier than she really is.

Since the summit is held during summer, she wears a black evening gown with the winter coat draped on her. She wears a pair of black high heels, with the heels being no more than two inches due to her height. 

Family: She’s the oldest among nine children, with six sisters and two brothers. Both of her parents are alive, but are constantly racking up debts which makes their relationship with Willow very strained. Her siblings in order are Hazel (20), Violet (17), Jasmine (16), Hawthorn (16), Lily (14), Iris (13), Holly (10), and Reed (9). The parents don’t work at all, forcing Willow to marry her late husband while Hazel and Violet had to go out to work. Violet works at a cemetery while Hazel has to work as a sex worker since it’s hard to find employment in Revaire. No one knows that Hazel works as a sex worker.

Sexuality: Cisgender Homoromantic Demisexual Female (has absolutely zero interest in her late husband and while interested in Penelope, she knows what she's getting into by marrying Lisle and is completely okay with letting go of what might have been in order to help Lisle. He's aware of Willow's interest in his sister and plays along with her remarks of marrying her instead when in private)

Pronouns: She/Her

Likes/Dislikes: Willow doesn’t like bitter food much, but she’ll eat anything due to her upbringing. She enjoys taking baths with limoelle oil (though she does it sparingly as it’s very hard to obtain the oil), and she enjoys reading fiction books as it serves as an escape from her life.

Hobbies: She likes stargazing, and can easily point out to people the constellations present in the night sky. She enjoys having tea sessions with Penelope because conversations tend to be relaxed and mainly about how they managed to tease Lisle. She also sews in her free time, though it’s usually to repair clothes. Sometimes she would ask Ria if there's anything she could help the maids with regards to needlework (Ria insists to leave the mending to her but Willow refuses every time).

Personality: Willow is intelligent and fairly charismatic, which allows her to garner the attention of others. She’s a sensible woman, and prefers to use reason over emotions when making decisions.

Willow is persuasive and quick-witted, which allows her to have her way most of the time. Usually only exerts her persuasion skills when saving people from sticky social situations, but wouldn’t be opposed to a friendly debate over general topics.

She’s the subtle type, and doesn’t like being blunt as she’s afraid of hurting people. (That, and being blunt isn’t a welcomed thing in the political nightmare of a country) She’s overall a kind woman who tries to help people out, though a bit introverted and misunderstood. 

She’s ambitious, but she doesn’t like it when she has to step on others to get ahead. She is, however, willing to use immoral methods to help others, such as personally eliminating her blackmailer in order to protect Lord Emroy. She believes that power should be used responsibly, but understands that in order to use them responsibly, she needs to gather as much as she can to do so. Willow prefers to take a more methodical approach when dealing with problems, such as the trial.

Weaknesses: Willow’s most major weakness is that she doesn’t confront people, while it doesn’t create drama for anyone, it also means that she inadvertently allows people to smear her reputation. This is most seen when it comes to the rumours surrounding her late husband’s death, she allowed others to paint her as a gold-digging murderer when she actually murdered her husband because she couldn’t cope with the abuse suffered at his hands.

Her second weakness is that due to her traditional upbringing, she fails to appreciate more innovative methods which can be more efficient in resolving issues. This also makes her come off as stiff to more liberal delegates, which may create tension between them even though Willow didn’t mean to offend them.

Her third weakness is that she doesn’t open up to others easily, which makes it hard for some delegates (the less people-savvy ones) to trust her. Her lack of charm doesn't help in making others trust her, which doesn't really bother her

Where to find her: She can be found in the servants’ quarters, though no one really questions it. It works out for Willow, since she wants to prepare for the worst case scenario that she can’t find a match and would have to return to Revaire without anything.

She can also be found in her own room reading about cunning figures or practicing speaking in the mirror, though she has been observed practicing self-defence skills with the Skaltian delegates...

Initial stats: 0 Charm, 50 Eloquence, 25 Beauty, 25 Leadership, 0 Self Defense, 50 Charisma, 75 Manipulation, 25 Courage, 50 Intelligence, 55 Etiquette, 0 Grace, 25 Poise, 50 Cunning, 0 History, 75 Politics, 0 Street Smarts, 0 Warfare, 25 Practical, 0 Academic, 25 People, 0 Flora & Fauna, ‌‌‌Noble, ‌‌Subtle, ‌‌‌Sensible, ‌‌‌‌Autonomous, ‌Compassionate, ‌‌‌Logical, ‌‌Cynical, ‌Ambitious, ‌‌Traditional, ‌‌Methodical, ‌‌‌Immoral 

Build: 

- Intelligent eyes ‌‌‌- Market ‌‌‌- Political studies ‌‌‌- Talk bandits into turning on one another ‌‌‌- Etiquette instructor‌ ‌‌‌- Practical things ‌‌‌- Preferred talking out of trouble ‌‌‌- Gave him all the pocket money and thanked soldier for his service ‌‌‌- Embarrassed him without getting caught - Found yourself interested in your fellow girls - Married for money - Abandoned estate - Politics - Likely maid - Not very charming ‌‌‌- Charming others - Just fine ‌‌‌- Determined to gather as much power as possible‌ - More power, more responsibility - Wait to be introduced ‌‌‌- Presented a logical argument why you were the suitable candidate‌ - Your lips are sealed‌ - Rat poison - Wore red to mourn as it’s tradition ‌‌‌- Felt somewhere between the two - Rather prepare in advance 

How I envision Willow to be like (coloured):

[faejilly]

Kiss prompt #38 for Nathalie (or amy couple).

38. Running fingers through hair while kissing [post]

I hope you enjoy some Nathalie/Clarmont now, ever so many eons after you requested it. I failed entirely to do the 'while kissing' thing and focused much more on the hair. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The Matchmaker may have announced them, they may consider themselves engaged, this might be exactly what they should be doing as these connections are exactly what the Summit claims to be for... but Nathalie's a 'known' seductress and suspected murderer, but Clarmont's only 'allowed' here for the Royal Family to keep an eye on him, to make sure he knows how generous they are being with their mercy.

Every day of this supposed peace conference is dangerous. Too many eyes, too many secrets, too many ways to fail.

She's terrified, in fact, of this, of him, of a quiet night and a clear sky and no one around and he's warm along her side and they're alone and it's beautiful and if she thinks about it, about what this is and what it might be and what the rest of her life will be with more of this, of him, the devastation if she never gets it again, she might break.

She closes her eyes and leans her head against his shoulder and grips his jacket too tightly between her fingers, and even so it's barely tight enough to hold her there, to hold her in one piece.

He keeps one arm around her shoulders, his thumb rubbing slowly up and down against her arm. He shifts, slowly, carefully enough she never has to lift her head, never has to let go.

She feels his free hand move, fingers finding the edges of her hair, her pins, and she knows what he's going to do and she lets him, lets him tug her hair free, one pin, one curl, one twist at a time.

She can't remember the last time she let her hair loose. She braided it loosely when she was sleeping, kept it fashionable and impeccable and impressive when out.

But now it tumbles free, catching on his sleeve and her neckline and his fingers and her jewelry and she's laughing, softly, her grip easing as she turns her head enough to press her face against him.

He strokes her hair, smoothing the top, then letting his fingers find their way through it, layer by layer, until she realizes she's half-asleep, curled up against a man in the middle of the night with no one around and not afraid at all, not of him, not of the Summit, not of the future.

She hums, too drowsy and comfortable to manage words, and she feels him kiss the top her head. She shivers, and they both know it's not from the way the breeze has picked up.

He keeps soothing her, though she doesn't think it would be possible to be more comfortable. He occasionally lets himself linger, fingertips against her forehead or temple or neck for just a moment before they find their way back into her hair, always moving, slow and gentle.

I love you, she thinks, and hopes he knows, for all she can't risk saying it aloud.

Not yet.

But soon.

They're almost there. They'll make it. They have to.

Soon.

[awaylaughing]

Day 3 - Weave

Posting here today because it’s short, but you can find it on AO3 here if you prefer!

Today’s offering is Aurora, Baroness Namaire, and her mother, before the beginning.

Estelle was no great intellect, she knew this about herself and found it no great loss, because she was still far from stupid. Indeed, in many ways she was better off than those with their noses stuck in books. They knew more of the workings of the world. Of numbers and ideas as substantial as air – but Estelle knew of life. Of adventure, and wonder and love.

 Of how love, was a powerful force built on the simplest of foundations.

 “So,” she said, gently pulling the brush through Aurora’s long hair, “the main thing is to not be forward. He’s had a great loss, the Baron has. Being crass and cruel will get you nowhere but the mouths of the worst gossips.”

 “I know, mother,” Aurora said, her eyes fixed on Estelle through the mirror. Despite the patina on the glass making things just a touchy foggy, flatteringly so really, they were sharp and as a green as leaves through glass. So like Aurean’s. So very – Estelle banished the thought as soon as it flit into her mind. “I’m just not certain we can afford to send me to so many salons.”

 “Tosh,” Estelle said, eyeing her work so far and deciding she was done with the brushing and should be onto the braiding. “Of course we can – roads can’t be made without the cost of pavers, and nets can’t be cast without the cost of rope.”

 Still fixed on her, Aurora’s eyes seemed to sharpen all the more -

 ‘Essie, don't you know this isn't a game?’

 - and she asked, “and is this a road, or a net?”

 “Really, it’s what you make of it, dear,” Estelle said. “Now – three braids or six?”

[ellebeebee]

Hey ya’ll, I’ve finally gotten around to something I’ve been procrastinating on for like forever: I’ve uploaded all of my Sabine fic to AO3.

Red Velvet

And omg, so gratifying to see the word count on my statistics page shoot up yass. 8>>

[fyeah7kpp]

Yuletide 2024 Nominations!

Hello, my dears!

It's the time of year again to nominate the 7KPP characters for Yuletide! For those who are unfamiliar, Yuletide is a yearly fanfiction gift exchange for small fandoms (fewer than 1000 works in English) on AO3, where the fandoms and characters that can be requested are nominated by users. You can find more information about it on the AO3 collection or on their Dreamwidth.

Nominations are currently open, for both fandoms and for characters. 7KPP will definitely be nominated but individual characters to request will also need to be nominated, so we're putting together a list to keep track of which characters have already been nominated, and who we have yet to nominate!

Note that you do not have to participate in the gift exchange itself to nominate, though you do have to have an AO3 account! You also do not have to nominate to participate, so if you're interested in the future, please feel free to hop in and join the fun!

Nominations are open through September 20 at 9 am UTC!

Please reply/reblog this post/message me to let me know who you are nominating and I will update the post accordingly so we can keep as careful track as we can! Also, people who don't have AO3 accounts who want to suggest additional characters to add to the list who I may have forgotten are welcome to!

Much love to everyone, and I'm sorry for the long absence! We will hopefully get an announcement about 7KPP Week out soon!

-Mod Tina

Information about current nomination statuses under the cut!

Updated as of 9/11/24.

Spoken For Characters: Jiyel Scholar, Jasper, Matchmaker, Sayra, Falon, Jaslen, Yvette, Woodly, Gisette, Avalie, Ria, Rebel MC, Widow MC, Princess MC, Court Lady MC, Countess MC, Clarmont, Lisle, Emmett, Zarad, Jarrod, Kade, Blain, Mrs. White

To be Nominated Characters: Pirate MC, Anaele, Penelope, Hamin, Cordelia, Lyon, Katyia, Sterlyn, Aamir, Constance, Leala, Adalric, Imogen, Estelle, Greer, Jorges, Lord Chancellor Torren Han-Lyle (Arland ambassador), Viscount Herschel (Wellin ambassador), Marchioness Iris Patricia Valentine (Revaire ambassador), Lady Nasira (Corval ambassador), Captain Nike (Hise ambassador), Minister Cato (Jiyel ambassador), Speaker Andel (Skalt ambassador)

[thedivinemissema]

Charisma’s Story

Charisma and Comfort

A short story for Omri, featuring her Revaire widow, Charisma, and Jasper. 

Time on isle is a scarce commodity, and Charisma hates to let any of her walls down around her fellow delegates. Jasper’s always there to give her the support she doesn’t even know she needs.

For the @7kppsecretsanta exchange. Merry Christmas!

[teaandinanity]

Day Four - Fashion

Valeriya in red, before and after.

[fic under the cut]

Before

Red is not much worn at court. Oh, occasionally someone will return to the social whirl in unseemly haste, still in half-mourning, with notes of carmine as accents or scarlet trimming a gown, rubies at ears and throat, garnet garlanding a wrist. Improper, certainly, but not unpardonable. More than that, though, is rarely seen. It is ill-bred to be much out in society in full mourning, freshly widowed, even with the more relaxed strictures under the new regime - and even the most abbreviated, superficial mourning will oblige her to wear full crimson for another six months.

She cannot wait half a year to start campaigning to be a representative at the Summit, not if she wants to seize the opportunity that hovers just within reach. It is almost too late for a true start already. She could wait, if the campaign were merely performative, merely an excuse to show herself to advantage and make inroads among the powerful, perhaps win another unwanted husband. The problem is, for all the skepticism of others, she means it.

She wants this, wants it far too much to let it slip through her fingers just because some people find it scandalous that she won’t play the grieving widow. Her relief is meant to be bereavement. They want her to pretend that it is.

She, for her part, wants this; she wants to go to Vail Isle, to have better options than she has been given, to prove herself so publicly that she can never be ignored or dismissed again.

So she wears red brazenly, and never bows her head in shame because she does not let herself feel it. She wears red, and it draws eyes.

The fashion, this season, has been for pastels. Valeriya can wear pastels, but they do not suit her half so well as jewel tones. She wears red, bold and bright as fresh blood. She wears red and seizes attention, holds it, uses it.

She is clearly not mourning her husband, they say. It is true enough.

She is shamelessly turning her mourning period to her own advantage. Also true.

She killed her husband. False, but she cannot deny the timing was convenient.

Convenient, and conveniently irrelevant. No one ruling the new Revaire cares about a little (unproven and unprovable) murder because she can prove - is proving - how she would excell if allowed to represent them. Everyone in this court with the power to stop her has blood on their hands; they are hardly going to fuss about a bit of red.

–

After

Red is often worn in Jiyel; it is worn for weddings and for festivals, for good fortune, for joy. She has always thought it suited her, but she has never loved it half so much as she does on the day of her wedding, wrapped in layers of silk so thick with gold embroidery it is stiff in places. Her hair is held up with gold, dripping with carnelian and ruby and garnet. The layers and the jewels should feel heavy, but her heart is light as thistledown. She feels as if she could float away, so the solid weight merely feels reassuring, grounding.

A marriage contract, in Jiyel, is often as not negotiated primarily by family rather than the principals. She and Lyon are neither of them dependent on family and thus subject to their wills. The contract they put their names to was a collaboration between them, from start to finish, not a zero-sum struggle between two noble families intent on getting the upper hand. They’ve started as they mean to go on; as partners, and as masters of their shared fate.

So she looks at her husband - also in red, although on him it is an accent to his customary, comfortable black - and grins, too happy to care that it’s broad and graceless. He smiles back, soft-eyed, clearly not minding in the least, and that means it’s alright. She is wearing red and gold, hair styled and face touched with tasteful cosmetic artistry, but he doesn’t care about all that. He cares enormously, though, that she’s happy.

The exchange of vows is relatively private; there will be a party, later, where Lyon’s peers (few), friends (fewer), and everyone who managed to insist on being invited because the King indicated an intention to attend his cousin’s wedding (unfortunately plentiful) will challenge her to debates on various subjects and present her with poems expecting her response to be spontaneous verse of her own creation - challenge her, in short, to prove that she’s worthy of her new husband. She doesn’t care what they think on that subject. Lyon has decided she’s worthy of him. She does not have to prove herself to anyone else; he’s decided she is.

He’s decided she is, and the Matchmaker agreed, and the contract is signed.

She will still meet the challenges presented, because she does not want a single person here to doubt that he chose well, but their opinions don’t truly matter to her husband, so for today at least, they do not have to matter to her, either.

He loves her. He loves her today, in red, giddy and grinning, and he will love her tomorrow morning, in a rumpled shift, contented and sleep-soft. He is not marrying her to be decorative.

She holds his gaze and it’s like no one else is even there. That’s as it should be; these words might be heard by others, but they are not for them. She is not performing for an audience. She is speaking to her husband. She is making a promise to the man she loves.

Jiyelian weddings have the couple write their own vows, and it was harder than extemporizing any speech meant for a crowd because she had ample time to overthink words intended for an audience of one, who matters more than anyone else ever has.

But she wants to say it anyway. She wants him to know. He should always know how much he is loved. He deserves to hear it said out loud.

She holds his eyes and for once even though there are many eyes on her, she does not pitch her voice to carry. She only speaks, quietly, to him.

“You are the answer to a question I have spent my life afraid to articulate. You woke my soul to joy; I want to share that happiness with you.

With you, I would share all that I am, and I promise to be gentle with those parts of yourself that you share with me.

I promise to listen, to your words and your silences both.

I promise you support in your endeavors, an ally in your struggles, and a safe place where you can rest.

You have my heart already, so I cannot offer it now, but I pledge to be a partner to you, and to try to deserve your faith. 

I am so glad to call you husband.”

Glad. It is too small a word; she is both proud and humbled, ecstatic, triumphant. She cannot say any of that. It sounds wrong in the air, would be twisted further out of true by the ears other than his that would hear her. This is not a victory she has won; it is an unlooked-for gift, a kindness she cannot deserve. It is a measure of grace from the very universe, that he should have looked at her, seen her, and found something to love.

Other people will try to find hidden meanings in her words. Lyon won’t. Lyon sees her clearly, but his eyes are nonetheless soft. That gaze pierces every defense she’s ever had, but it holds her so gently.

He’s smiling at her, that quiet curve of his lips that isn’t at all performative, that only ever happens when he is truly happy.

She looks back at him and thinks the love must be shining out of her the same way the sun glows through a raised hand, mortal flesh wholly insufficient to contain so much light.

[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.

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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.

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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.”