tristanharcourt

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   "General Castle cleaning, Your Grace," Tristan answered, grimacing slightly at his rather vague response, and then continued on unprompted: "laundry, bed-making, armour and weapon polishing, escorting visitors to their rooms or to a meeting area, bag carrying, assisting with hunts," he started counting haphazardly on his fingers, "message delivery, lighting the fires, keeping a keen ear open for the wishes of our royal family, chamberpot cleaning -ugh-" he let his voice quiet to a near silence as he carried on, paused, and then sucked his bottom lip apprehensively when he realised he'd probably divulged a tad too much for polite - likely humouring - conversation. "That was an unnecessarily long list, wasn't it? Nevertheless, you know, you say it, I'll do it. That is the mark of a well-trained servant, after all, and I aim to do nothing if not please, My Lady."

Caterina let her light eyes study the boy before her. Even if she didn’t want to think of the evil that had walked into the castle they were living at, the memory of seeing the ominous and fateful message written in the wall never leaving her mind, she couldn’t help but second guess every person she wasn’t familiar with. It wasn’t in her to doubt the servants she saw in the halls, at least not back home for she had grown up with them surrounding the castle; she had to constantly remind herself that it wasn’t the same where she was now.

The young Queen acknowledged the boy. “What is it that you do if not kitchen work, Tristan?” the monarch asked, her hands intertwined in the front, maintaining a regal pose.

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   Equals. It was still an odd word to hear coming from the mouth of someone who just confessed that she was a princess, a princess. "You're a princess?" He repeated, as the word seemed to buzz in his mind, occasionally poking at his skull like an insistent child. His mother would probably break down at the thought of her ragtag baby holding such everyday conversation with a member of Italian royalty. His Father would probably shrug and tell him to make sure he keeps his mouth clean.��

   "The pleasure is all mine, Princess Eloise," he replied, happy the tension seemed to have thinned, though still minutely aware of every little action. "Germany is my home," he responded simply, shrugging, "it's, you know, where my mates are, where my family is. It's quite tense, though, in the towns, what with everything that's been going on, so I suppose I'm safer here. You are too, right? That's what this is all for. So I'm happy to be away from it, if it means we all get to live a little longer." 

"It’s okay," she immediately told him, not wanting him to apologise or try to explain himself. This was probably something most people did, talk about things like blood and execution. She just wasn’t used to it, she told herself. "Really, it’s okay," Eloisa then spoke again. "I mean—- you forgetting your place is not that bad, right? It means we were having a conversation as equals, and I think that’s nice—-" She was trying to talk it right, even if she had no reason to do so. She just felt like she should. Eloisa nodded slightly. "I’m probably less careful than I should be."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Tristan," she politely stated. "I’m from Italy. I’m a princess of Italy… but I have never been to Germany before. Is it nice?" Eloisa was honestly curious. It was not more than expected from a girl who had never travelled before coming here.

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   The offer was unbelievably tempting; despite Tristan's cheery and unwavering acceptance of the simple life, he knew food fit for royalty was nothing to turn your nose up at. However, he was also all too aware of the social complications that were likely to arise in the servant's quarters if he were to show up with a loaded plate for himself and not the evasive rabbit he jokingly declared he'd catch for supper for them all. "That is a highly generous offer, My Lady, I can only assume you're far from selfish but," he lowered his head, faintly aware of the dangers of denying the gracious gifts of someone so respected, "I'm afraid it would be, uh, unprofessional? If any servants assumed some sort of favouritism I'm afraid I'd be sleeping in the stables with something far worse than rabbit for tea. You know us servants, its all politics," he added with a light-hearted, if slightly nervous, laugh. 

When Isabelle heard the voice, she prepared herself for the worst, ready to run at any second. Her guard had been extremely high lately; she was alert as ever, and she kept an eye out every single place she went. She was especially cautious now, though, seeing as it was a risk to go outside in the midst of the severity of the rebellion. But, she still had her trusting nature; the queen was always kind and helpful, and though it could backfire on her, she liked to assume that everyone she came across in Switzerland was a friend rather than an enemy. Offering him a smile, she laughed lightly when she heard what he was out here for. “I do believe I saw a rabbit run through,” she responded, her eyebrows raising. “But what use is a rabbit when you can have bread and pastries? I hate to see you chasing your dinner. If you’d like, I can have the kitchen servants set aside an extra meal for you tonight. It seems people like me are quite selfish; we often have too much, rather than too little.”

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Sorry for the sudden burst of inactivity! I finally got the flu that everyone in my flat has been teasing me with all week; I'll get to replies now and if anyone wants to plot that'd be fab!

(Also hello new people! I'm Becky uwu) 

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   "I'm sorry, I-" Tristan felt his gut clench as he watched Eloise physically remove herself from his presence; he'd become too comfortable and started prattling like he would to his mates down the tavern instead of appreciating that he was speaking to a noble woman, a kind one, who had likely never experienced a servant speaking so bluntly about executions and blood and the like to her. "I forgot my place, my lady, I just meant to warn you about saying things like that so loudly here; people are paranoid and you're right, you're so right, but -- you should be careful, is all."

   He sighed, defeated, and allowed Eloise her space to relax. He tried a small smile, to lure her back into the conversation, "my name's Tristan," he replied, "Tristan Harcourt, from Germany. And you're from-?"

"I don’t think I would want to be beheaded?" she answered, although it sounded like she was rather unsure of her answer. Like it was a trick question and she’d managed to get it wrong. It was amusing, well, it would be to others, she thought, her confusion at the sudden mentioned of beheading. It was quite abrupt, not like anything people ever said to her. It caught her off guard. Crossing her arms, she took the smallest step back.

"I trust the staff, maybe I am in the wrong for doing so. But I’d rather trust the wrong people than trust nobody at all. I don’t think little contact with the staff is going to help anyone in this situation," Eloisa spoke, shaking her head. But now she was feeling rather uneasy, the word ‘beheaded’ still in the back of her mind. Biting down on her lip, she tried changing the subject. "You—- you never told me your name, you know that?"

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   Tristan let out a low breath, admittedly impressed with the bizarre confidence Eloisa had to fearlessly announce support - was it? - for the commoners seeking their fair share of rights within their respective kingdoms; and she was correct, the rebellers did have a reason, a very good one, but any mention of it was dangerous not only to her but to him and, dare he imagine it, his family. He chuckled, still largely in shock, as he stepped forward to obscure her from the other servants pottering around at the back of the kitchen. Even when whispering in caution, he couldn't help the light laughter lacing his words; "do you want to be beheaded?" he asked, bemused, "you're right, of course, but it would be a waste of a lovely dress to have blood all over it." 

   He blanched; did that sound like a threat? He'd just mentioned blood stains to a Lady and it was definitely her fault for being so friendly and - oh god, what if this was a ploy? A clever plan to uncover the rebels within the servants quarters: send down a pretty girl and anyone will talk. "What I mean to say, my Lady, is that the nobles came here to protect themselves and it's only right that they're assured of their own safety, even if that means little contact with staff." It was all bullshit, obviously, but Tristan was quite fond of his own head.

"Then take some more," Eloisa suggested, nodding towards the bread. "If food is sparse for the staff, I’d rather you take some away from me than starve yourself. No need to share with me, I’ve had enough, truly." She was softly laughing now, honestly amused by the way he was still being really polite. She wasn’t laughing at him, just at the fact that she’d completely dropped the manners and tried to speak to him as an equal -like she did with almost everyone- and he was still like this. She liked it, truly.

"I think that’s rather foolish," she commented, shrugging. Maybe she was too innocent to think anything of it, to even think anything of the word rebel. "You and other servants, you wouldn’t just lash out like beasts and slay us all, isn’t that true? I don’t see why the other nobles would be nervous. It can’t be that bad—- Plus, there must be some reason to rebel in the first place. And I can’t help but think that it’s probably a good one."

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   Each time the Queen's lips twitched into anything but content, Tristan envisaged himself on his hands and knees, a hooded man gripping the blade that was to slice through his neck like a knife through butter; not, funnily enough, one of his favourite fantasies in that position. She'd yet to dismiss him or, more importantly, demand his untimely execution, so he held his hopes high and obliged her request as politely and sharpish as possible. He could almost hear his mother sighing in dismay at his disastrous manners and lack of poise: you didn't even introduce yourself, are you mad?! she'd screech, and he'd leap comically out of beating range with the grace of a frightened swan.

   "Tristan Harcourt, Your Majesty," he answered curtly when his mind finally caught up, bowing again, "servant to the royal family of Germany and, of course, all others who require my assistance."

A small, almost unnoticeable frown graced her soft lips upon hearing the boy’s first words after she had asked him a question. For a moment, she let her eyes wander the kitchens, readying her mind to say goodbye to the boy and go look for a kitchen servant. There was definitely a different feel that surrounded this Castle and its people, one that differed so much from the one she would always call home; that alone made her feel nostalgic towards both her home in Italy and the childhood memories within the walls.

Caterina tilted her head as she heard the servant speak, telling her that he knew the kitchens like the back of his hand. A smile yet again appeared on her lips as she stood tall and regal, her back as straight as ever — something that never faltered. Caterina had to admit, both the suggestions were quite good and for a boy that doesn’t work in the kitchen, he surely has an eye for good dishes. The blonde hummed as she thought, her light eyes set on the boy. “Perhaps some cheese would do.” she nodded. Then, she let her eyes wander the kitchen, a place she wasn’t at all familiar with. Her attention was back on the boy after a bit. “What is your name?”

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   "Forgive me, your majesty," Tristan announced breathlessly, stumbling into the clearing so the Queen could see him clearly; he wasn't stupid, there'd been whispers of the nobility's fears being exacerbated by the rebel's far more upfront methods in the past weeks, and servants like Tristan -if they wanted to keep their jobs - were best off keeping to themselves and ensuring that they gathered little suspicion. Recently, that appeared to be far easier said than done. "I did not mean to startle you, my Lady, my name is Tristan, servant to the Royal Family of Germany, I was-" he stopped, shoulders sagging at the pathetic confession he was about to make, "well, I chasing a rabbit - for supper, you see -and it, uh, eluded me."  

It was the first time Isabelle had gone outside in a while, considering the attacks. She found herself longing to breathe fresh air and get away for a few hours, a book in her hand. For about a half hour, there was silence in the hedge maze, where she was sat atop a stone bench. It was nice to be able to sit in privacy, just her and nature. Of course, though, she wouldn’t mind company — but the rustling she heard from her left startled her. “Who’s there?” She asked. She tried to keep her voice calm and collected, but there was a bit of a shake to it — being that there had been so many recent attacks around the castle, there was a fear in the back of her mind that a rebel could be in that maze with her.

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   A surprised laugh left Tristan's lips before he could stop it; this Lady - Eloisa, though he'd never risk omitting her title and consequently face the wrath of at least one of his superiors - was conspiring with him as if he was worthy of her secrets. She talked wistfully of home and that Tristan could relate to and, yet, he was equally aware of the reality of this obscure situation: he wouldn't let his guard down just yet. 

   "Though your charitable nature is admirable, Lady Eloisa," he said, with a slight bow, "I am inclined to keep this bread for myself at this moment in time; food is sparse for the staff and I am a growing boy after all. Though, of course, I'd be willing to share with you ." He shrugged as he considered what she'd said previously, "it's not as common here as you might think. Most nobles are, well, sort of nervous to be around us servants at the moment, they think we might, ah, rebel~" he  explained, grinning and waving his fingers to show that she was safe in his company, at least.

"I’m very sure," she responded, sending a small nod in his direction, meant as an encouragement. Of course he could take the bread. There was more. And otherwise someone could make more. There was no reason for him not to take it. "Oh, how rude of me. I have not even properly introduced myself. My name is Eloisa," she then quickly spoke, remembering that it was more than likely this man did not know who she was.

"I only offer in the hope you would do the same for someone else who needs it," Eloisa explained. "Though, I am not sure if you need the bread, you surely could find better use for it than fattening up the nobles.” Her last words were spoken softer, not louder than a whisper. She wouldn’t want anyone to hear that, it would more than likely come off as offensive, even if she didn’t mean it that way. “Eat it yourself, find some girl on the street who needs it more. As long as the bread is not wasted, right? We have enough to eat, so why not share? That is what I used to do in Italy. Is that uncommon here, would you know?”

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   "Yes, of course, thank you, My Lady," Tristan agreed, nodding a little bit erratically before realising that he must look like a rag doll being flung around by an energetic child; his usual boyish confidence could only take him so far when approached by an inexcusably intimidating monarch. Though he'd sometimes risk a quirky comeback back home, this Castle was a far different, and he daren't make a reputation for himself amongst foreign dignitaries with so much fear in the air.

   "I'm afraid I don't usually work in the kitchens, your Majesty," he admitted, skidding around the table of bread to inspect the looming shelves of produce - immaculately sorted to feed the large gathering of nobles as efficiently as possible - "but luckily I'm rather fond of food so I know this place like the back of my hand. Perhaps some cheese, or we have a large range of fruit to sweeten the dish if you like? I'm sure  whatever you desire is hidden here somewhere."

Caterina watched the servant; she couldn’t blame him for displaying the nervousness that he was showing. While Caterina was more than used to speak kind words to the servants, at least back in Italy, she had no idea how the rest of the noble people addressed them, if at all. Servants could be mere ghosts, walking by unnoticed by those that were highborn. The blonde could only imagine how that was like. 

A smile was present in her lips, at least a hint of it. “I used to visit the kitchens back in Italy all the time,” she mused, her mind flowing with memories; after all, the servants of her home were the ones that she had grown up with and her father always told her that making enemies out of anyone wouldn’t prove to be beneficial to her. And so she never forgot those words; there was nothing to lose with being kind to those that were considered to be below her. Caterina nodded, “Perhaps next time, you ought to see whom you are speaking to before doing so. While I do not mind, others might.” She advised with a gentle tone, before she nodded. “Ah, yes — is there anything that can make this bread less dull here in the kitchen?” she asked, hoping that there was something to put on the bread.

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   Startled and still slightly shaken, Tristan allowed himself a small smile of victory and dared to hold eye contact with the girl. Kind, then, it seemed, and generous too - a disastrous mix, he reasoned, for someone in power, but so very refreshing nonetheless. "If you're sure, My Lady," he replied, slowly moving his hand towards the bread as if she would change her mind at any moment, her sweet smile morphing to a malicious roar that would summon the guards at once.

  "Forgive me if it is out of turn to say," he continued, still unsure of just how polite he was supposed to be to a lady that dressed like a princess but spoke her mind as free as if she was an equal, "but there aren't many nobles who would be so quick to offer a humble servant their resources."

The person in front of her seemed rather shocked, and it took Eloisa quite some effort not to chuckle at it. She hadn’t meant to startle him like that, of course she hadn’t. Perhaps it just came with who she was. She made a point out of keeping her eyes on him as she smiled.

"Please, you don’t have to explain yourself, I understand why you would have assumed that, it’s alright," she told him. "And you have to admit, it is a rather amusing mistake. I don’t think it has happened to me before. But I am not going to forgive you, you don’t need forgiveness for something like this." Eloisa shook her head ever so slightly. "I have had too much to eat already, I must say." It wasn’t a lie. If there was anyone who was good at eating too much and not noticing it until she felt like she was going to throw up, it was Eloisa, and it was a shame. "So why don’t you take some bread? We wouldn’t want it wasted, now would we?"

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   The world appeared to slow to a halt as Tristan watched a gentle hand, a hand adorned with jewels and sleeves that almost glistened with the most elegant stitches he'd ever seen, sample the bread next to him. Unless a chambermaid had taken to thievery, he certainly wasn't conversing with someone of his class. He had two options: address his mistake and apologise profusely to the noblewoman, or keep his head down and pretend all was fine. Both, he concluded, would probably end in certain death. Though he was a melodramatic sort.

   "Your majesty," Tristan said, bowing quickly, trying to hide the whimper in his voice. Gods. "How rare to have someone of your calibre here - it is certainly a privilege. I apologise wholeheartedly for my thoughtlessness," he cursed himself inwardly, he was really laying it on thick. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

There was a certain paranoia that roamed the halls, a cutting feeling that the incident at the ball was nothing compared to what might happen in the future. Caterina could swear that every step she took, she would be getting closer and closer to the edge of a cliff — uncertain and a mystery, much like what the future was to her and everyone alike. The blonde monarch couldn’t help but wonder if things were like that back in her home or if she was the only one of her family — direct one at least — that had had the pleasure of enduring through such drama. She hoped she was for she wouldn’t wish that upon her mother and her sisters. 

The halls held an uncomfortable silence, even if she wasn’t the only one walking by; she noticed the head bowing on the corner of her eye, she couldn’t help it. She used to acknowledge every single one of them but, like her mother had told her, she would be tiring herself. And blindly, Caterina followed the woman’s words. Craving a bit of food, it wasn’t unusual for Caterina to visit the kitchens, take a bit of something that caught her eye. As she walked in however, she was greeted by a boy’s voice. A small laugh escaped her lips as she approached him, standing beside him and taking a bit of bread before she spoke. “I can assure you that we do not count every single one of them.” The Queen spoke, a smile on her lips. “You may eat one if you want, I won’t tell. I promise” Caterina spoke before she put a bit of bread in her mouth and chewed. 

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   Tristan's heart jumped momentarily; the voice that responded was far too refined to belong to a common kitchen servant and, when he turned, his fears were confirmed. Tristan immediately took notice of the girl's grand attire and the natural grace she held herself with. This girl - woman - was certainly not his people, and his stomach churned at the thought of what that meant: the stables, if she was kind, and the stocks if she was anything but.

   "M-my lady," he said, brushing flour from his trousers and moving his arms behind his back to bow lowly in one swift motion. Next time, he told himself, look at who you're addressing before opening your ridiculously oversized mouth. "Forgive me for my insolence, I carelessly assumed you were one of the staff. Not because you look like one of the staff, of course, if I'd have looked-" he paused, took a breath, and tried to collect his words, "it was a mere jest. The food here is for the nobility and no-one less. Perhaps you'd like a piece for your journeys?"

Eloisa had always liked exploring. Every chance she got, she would try to slip away and find some place she had never seen before. Back in Italy, she knew her entire castle, every corridor was burned into her mind, every door she could recognise. Obviously, exploring there had become boring after a while. And that paired with never leaving her home, she had forgotten how exciting it all could be. At least, that was until she got here. Here, everything was new. Everyone was new. And it was exciting as it was scary.

She had found her way down to what appeared to be the kitchens, earning herself a few strange looks from -more than likely- nobles, as well as some servants. But she’d finally found her love for discovering new things again. She was about to walk past a man she’d deemed busy, or at least busy with his own thoughts, when he spoke. Eloisa raised an eyebrow. “I would assume the nobles eat as much as they please, but I could imagine that’s not much of an answer to that question,” she responded, turning to look at him. “And I don’t think anyone would notice. Maybe me. I won’t tell, though.”

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   Since the incident at the ball, Tristan had lost count of the amount of dignitaries that had declined a glass of wine forthright if it was him holding the jug; the less than subtle steps to the side - to avoid walking within stabbing distance, he supposed - when they’d notice him in one of the Castle’s extravagant corridors. They were so restless, so utterly paranoid, that Tristan deemed it safe to give himself a day off. ‘Personal trauma,’ he’d assure anyone who asked. No work to do if each noble treated him as a walking sword, ready to strike at any moment.

  That didn’t mean this wouldn’t involve hiding. He took to the kitchens, gleefully accepting any spoiled food not perfect enough for the nobility. He was casually admiring the preposterous amount of bread when he heard footsteps approaching and assumed it was yet another servant with nothing to do till the next feast; “How much bread do these nobles need to eat?” He asked, chuckling and not turning his head from the bakery before him, “do you think they’d notice one missing?” 

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[hey everyone, i'm becky! i'm super stoked to be here; i'll post up a starter in a few but i'm always up for plotting with anyone + everyone! :x ]