the earth laughs in flowers

“Don't be ashamed to weep; 'tis right to grieve. Tears are only water, and flowers, trees, and fruit cannot grow without water. But there must be sunlight also. A wounded heart will heal in time, and when it does, the memory and love of our lost ones is sealed inside to comfort us.” ― Brian Jacques, Taggerung

[tyceleone-deactivated20131105]

last note of tranquility || leone & andromaque

[tyceleone-deactivated20131105]

Her attempt to comfort him had little success, since Leone stood only to hide his true emotions from his mother.His hand remained laced with hers, almost preventing his escape.  Her assuring smile did not convince him enough. Her complexion had turned pale, her eyes had lost their ebullient glow and she appeared tired. He must have looked tired to her himself, however, he had an excuse more valid than a simple cold. He was concerned, stressed and annoyed at the festivities, despite their reason. He did not need birthdays, the relams were on the verge of war.

"A cold?" Doubt spread around his mind as dense fog. In the heart of spring, his mother had caught a cold. The worry in his eyes became more intense. It was nearly impossible. None of them suffered from colds. "Are you sure, mother? Would you like me to fetch a physician?" His heart lingered at the thought of a much greater illness she kept secret.

Eyes trained on his mother, Leone swallowed an impatient sigh. As keen as he might had been the moment he invaded the room to talk of war and guests, his mother’s words had washed all the negative emotions from his soul. ” Your health would be enough to make up for my troubles.”

[andromaquebeauroza]

     "No." She remarked sharply. Pulling back from the intensity of her own insisting, she smiled and shook her head. "No physician. I merely need to sleep this off and I will be well again. My handmaids are taking excellent care of me." Tugging on her coat that was utterly misplaced, she maintained a smile through immense effort considering the pain and state of weariness. She felt as though she were ready to give any moment, yet kept her footing.

     Without furthermore hesitation, she gestured for Leone to seat himself as way of excusing herself to take a seat that was much needed in a chair that sat opposite of he. Careful to not hurt herself, she was slow in the process, minding the fact that the bump was now beginning to protrude and hidden by several layers of cloth that could easily give away her pregnancy if she was not careful to situate the fabric correctly.

     Once seated, she glanced back to Leone and shook her head in objection, humming a soft chuckle. "You make it sound as though I'm dying." Was she dying? "For your birthday, I wish to commission the establishment of statues depicting you and Rodrick. Where would you like yours to be placed?"

[millardoftyce]

Pale Rose || Andromaque & Millard

[millardoftyce]

"You would think I would not know what is the matter with my wife? I have ears around the please, my Dear." He explained, narrowing his eyes at her answer. It wasn’t very believable indeed and if she was indeed lying he instantly thought of the possibility she might be gravely ill, which clearly made him uncomfortable.

Instead he would only nod, smiling and no longer bringing any discussion to the subject. He solemly hoped that his wife wouldn’t hide her medical condition to him if it was endangering her life. He looked to the side, noticing Deston keeping an eye on the two of them and no matter if Deston tried to get an alignment again there was still this inevitable feeling that he was still out to hurt his wife and his children, something he did not want to happen. 

He was relieved when Andromaque took his arm, looking over at Deston one more time before they walked out of the ballroom into the more silent corridors of their court. He just parted his lips to speak when she had beat him, telling him she had a confession to make and he already forgot that what he had been wanting to say. 

"Then you may confess what is on your mind." He quietly spoke, looking down at her when they stopped talking in a corner lit by torches. Hearing the news that she was once more with child made him freeze for a moment. A very short moment before his lips spread into a large smile.

But when the horror struck that this time she might not be as lucky when giving birth his smile instantly faded and he looked ahead of them to see if someone was walking towards them or in any case nearby to eavesdrop. He ran a hand through his hair and let it rest there for a few seconds before he let go of her arm and instead took her hand. 

"Does the physician know about this yet? It doesn’t necessarily mean your health is in danger, is it not? We can keep you in bed like the physician suggested last time."

[andromaquebeauroza]

     "No one knows." Andromaque confirmed. "My handmaids, I suspect they are catching on. I only continue to grow. And Nevaeh..." Andromaque trailed off, recollecting the incident in her bed chambers whereof a frightful Nevaeh had validated Andromaque's apprehension. Perhaps she was to die. Perhaps there was no metaphor to this vision as it simply implied death. Swallowing her terror, she nodded once and attempted to proceed. "Nevaeh had a vision. She came to me some nights ago, quaking with fear I've never seen from her before."

     Andromaque was hesitant to do so much as explain what she claimed to have seen as she wondered if Rodrick himself had experienced any recent encounters. Did she truly wish to know? "My health is failing me, Millard. I can feel it. I cannot die; not yet. I have so much to still live for. I cannot leave my children." She bit back her lower lip as though to suppress any tears and heaved a sigh in her attempt to regain composure. "You and Drago. I cannot leave. I still have to rescue Pascella. I must. I won't leave her there as I have for so long. It must not be my time. The Three would not permit it, yes?"

     She was forced to remind herself not to panic. Perhaps fate was not written in stone. And perhaps Nevaeh's vision had not even suggested she was to die. But nevertheless, the sign it conveyed was not favorable.

     "There is still too much that I must do."

[daughtertothewest]

Storms Rising Beneath Skin | Nevaeh & Andromaque

[daughtertothewest]

All her energy seemed to have sapped, yielding to exhaustion and terror as she melted into the door. All her body could do was weep, tears staining her face till her cheeks tasted forever of salt. The vision had been so unlike the others; not in its form, for she had been assaulted with the faces of demons and horrible monsters since she was young. This divinely sent imagery had not been to terrifying in its style, but rather its content. Those she knew were often present in her dreams, but rarely her mother. A mother was a sacrosanct figure if there ever was one; Andromaque certainly no exception, having raised Nevaeh since she was a babe, foregoing the normal nurses and caretakers in place of teaching her with her own queenly hands.

By the time she was in her mother’s embrace, it was all she could do to slump down her slim frame (was she slimmer now? Already withering away?) and onto the floor. But by the grace of Isabeau, she rose up, knees knocking through her thin nightgown, calling upon the inner strength the woman before her had instilled within her bones. “You, dear mother - ” Trembling, her hands came up to cup her mother’s face, feeling cold cheek beneath her palm. “I have seen you -“

Her voice, normally saccharine syrup and the whispers of flowers, was raw and grinding, like a pestle in mortar. She shook her head, turning from her mother’s arms so she could stumble towards the grand bed in the center of the room. Her gait was weak, like that of a failing old woman. She grasped the bed’s pole to steady herself, one hand on her stomach is if she might be sick. Tears streamed hot and fast, emerging to her cheeks, despite her closed lids. She had seperated herself fro her mother so she may speak her vision; clinging to Andromaque would only result in more of a breakdown. When she spoke again, her voice was hoarse, strained. Something of it was distant, as she tried to detach herself from the memory - she wanted to no part in it.”You reached up and took the moon, held it in your hands. And you squeezed it, draining it into your cup. When the cup was full, you put it to your lips and drank, every last drop. Then you began to grow in size, swelling huge… then, quickly, you begin to wither. Like one of our roses set on fire, you turned to ash and bone on the ground. Unblinking… Dead.”

[andromaquebeauroza]

     Left aghast, Andromaque remained deathly still even when Nevaeh had broken free of her embrace. Surely, it was death in the metaphorical sense; Andromaque would not believe otherwise. But what could that mean? Had it been predetermined that she suffer a similar disaster as her ill fated brother; dead in the metaphorical notion? But Nevaeh's visionary of a moon and the swelling... it was the child. Immediately, Andromaque's hand went to her abdomen, frightful that Nevaeh had now predicted the same misfortune for Andromaque that Pascella had so often endured. It could be punishment for her misdemeanor against Pascella. Or perhaps this was to imply the child was surely her demise. Through her parted lips, she promptly ordered the handmaidens to exit with a single demand and a quick gesture.

     Silencing her thoughts, she turned for Nevaeh and approached her frail figure that was grasping to the bed to maintain her footing. First, she said nothing. Unsure of what to say that may comfort her. Time and time again, her visions were remarkably true. However, Andromaque was not keen just yet reveal her condition to Nevaeh. It would only furthermore distress her and prompt her to believe the child was a forthcoming of doom. Instead, she placed a trembling hand to Nevaeh's shoulder and attempted to smile despite her inability to see. It hadn't mattered. Nevaeh could feel an expression settled upon her. As a babe, she would smile when others did.

     "On the morrow, we will head for Death's temple and pray. I am doubtful I will die, but perhaps this implies there is something coming that could gravely harm our family. We mustn't panic now. Composure will keep us stabilized for the time being." Moving her hand to cradle Nevaeh's cheek, she gingerly turned her head so she was now facing Andromaque. Her smile had by now fallen away and her brows furrowed contemplatively. "If need it be done, if Death does will it, I will arrange for us to seek temporary sanctuary until you are granted another vision that may guide us to our victory. I fear now for our family, but Nevaeh, keep calm. It will do us no good to go into hysteria."

     The trembles in her voice cause by a mixture of sickness and fear hadn't supported her attempts to console the distressed young maiden, though there was at least an effort made.

[altofairbayne-deactivated201407]

Obligated Secrets | Drago & Andromaque

[altofairbayne-deactivated201407]

A scowl clearly formed on Drago’s face as he heard his sister’s words. At first he wondered how she knew so much, but she was the Queen. She could get anything she wanted if asked for she was strong willed. The title of Queen fit his sister like a well-tailored dress and she never let the dress wear her.  She certainly never let Drago get his side of the argument in. Andromaque spoke like her word was law- which technically it was- and he could do nothing about it. But she often forgot that he was his own man and he had plans. Those plans to marry Irene Haelstarv.

“The deal has been struck, Andromaque,” Drago replied, steel laced into his voice. He could feel the words and plans almost break free from the tip of his tongue, but he bit them back. Andromaque would have him beaten if she found out of his true purpose to take the throne as his own. She was a formidable opponent as his sister and as Queen, but as a mother she could be a demon. “There will be a wedding and I would greatly appreciate it if you would attend. And as you may have very well figured out, this has nothing to do with love. I lost that chance.”

“Why should the girl die if Rodrick takes the throne? If he has the throne, he has the throne. If she is married to me, I am the only thing standing in her way to taking it,” he explained, hoping that it would be a good enough reason to convince her. “Besides she has no real ambitions to rule. Deston just happened to pick his favorite flower. No more no less.”

“But you really shouldn’t’ be the one to give me lectures about marriages, dear sister,” Drago’s tone darkened considerably, almost to a threatening level. “Leaving our dear Pascella at such a young age so you can do what you wish. Your dreams come true at the sacrifice of others.”

“Mine are no different but like you, they will come to pass,” he finished staring directly into her eyes. He saw himself, but it was not himself. She would always be his twin, but she was also in his way if she went against his marriage to Irene.

[andromaquebeauroza]

     "Deal?" Andromaque nearly hissed before her tone fell into frightful demeanor. "What have you promised those people, Drago?" For a moment, she pondered on whether he was sincerely so foolish to subject himself willingly to harm. The mere fact alone that he was engaged to be married to Deston's heir could have instigated a war. Had she not already been drowned of color, her cheeks may have turned white with fright. Beneath the sheets, she placed two hands against her abdomen and brought her knees in apprehensively.

     "You are foolish, Drago. You don't know this woman. For all you know, she may be plotting with Deston. He is her family. You are just a man as I am just a woman to her. Deston is the only father she's known. Those Haelstarv girls cannot be trusted under his supervision." Her lips turned into an anguished frown whilst her brows furrowed in confusion. "How long have you known her? Would you happen to know the date of her birth or even how old she is? Her real father's name? What of her favorite color or musical composition? Did you even see the color of her eyes or were you so blinded of your ambition for whatever cause?" Pulling back from her statement, she recognized the hypocrisy in her words. Blinded by ambition. He was her as much as she was him and perhaps she too would break if the love of her life left her. Could she be so weak?

     "If not for love, then for what, brother?" Pulling the sheets back, she struggled to retreat from her bed with precise movement. As she had presumed, her legs were ready to give in thanks to the maidens refusing to permit her a few moments of a walk. Nevertheless, she found the strength to take a few wavering steps to the window, seeking a moment of relief. 

     "You cannot sincerely believe that you will have some great authority by marrying her. From stories I've heard, she's a stoic girl that favors her mother's appearance. If she is anything like her mother, she is manipulative and intelligent; always a step ahead. You must think." A pain in her abdomen yet again disoriented her train of thought, "Our family cannot afford to falter. We will die."

[millardoftyce]

Pale Rose || Andromaque & Millard

[millardoftyce]

"Please, Andromaque. You need not address me as such, you are the Queen, and my wife." He spoke, lifting her chin with the single touch of his finger. Smiling at her however he did not seem to miss the quiver in her voice. He frowned upon her explanation, lowering his arm. 

"A cold? Surely a cold wouldn’t make one nauseated and wobbling on her feet?" He exclaimed, plus he found it odd she was having a cold when it was one of the most pleasurable temperatures Queensgarden had in the past year. 

"Walk with me, would you, My Love?" He asked her, raising his arm for her to take. “I promise you will be back at the festivities in a matter of minutes. I just need to stretch my legs before Deston will bore me with his talking, of which I am sure he will do very quickly. “

[andromaquebeauroza]

     "Who said I was nauseated?" Andromaque inquired beneath her breath, startled that her conditions may very well be common knowledge. Be that so, Deston would know. He'd presume the worst and confirm her fears. He was not to know. "I suffer no nausea and the quake of my legs is due to my ill diet. It's difficult to eat when you feel sickly." Just as she was affirming there was no severity to her illness, a wave of nausea again returned. She inwardly cursed herself and bit down on her tongue as though it would cure her.

     Certain Millard was not deceived by her weak argument, she was hesitant to express anymore defense to her case. Furthermore, she wished to bring no attention to the fact that she was gravely ill-stricken. Her appearance did enough to validate she was not stable in health. Apprehensively, she glanced about the room to seek out Deston whom was seated among his party. In a brief moment, their eyes met, prompting Andromaque to tug on her coat that seemed misplaced in this atmosphere. Reluctantly, she turned back to Millard with solemn demeanor.

     Taking his arm in agreement, she could have assumed she felt Deston's eyes rest atop her until she was parted from his boundary of sight and led elsewhere by Millard's request. Now secluded from her audience once more, she kept her grip on Millard's arm.

     "I have a confession." She spoke quietly, still concerned of being monitored by unwanted guests. "My condition cannot be of public knowledge. It cannot be known that I am vulnerable. Furthermore, again with child." Nearly choking over her last words, she maintained her composure and again tugged upon her coat with her free hand.

[tyceleone-deactivated20131105]

last note of tranquility || leone & andromaque

[tyceleone-deactivated20131105]

Leone nagged yet again, unaware of his mother’s pain. Their last encounted had been far too long ago. Being constantly occupied with his sword and trainnings, he rarely got the chance to even accidentaly bump into them at the corridor. Rodrick was as always right; he was obligated to please his parents at least on his birthday. Shame flooded his cheeks with a feverish red glow. Rodrick was always right.

" I apologise for intrusion, dear Mother." He voice was softer than his former savage roars.His expression was still hunated by the ghost of his anger though.  "Mother, you look sick. Have you been eating well?"

The price of being the youngest soldier was presented him in the most screeching of ways. His mother was probably sick without Leone even noticing it before. He knelt before her, observing her features with a new found worry.

[andromaquebeauroza]

     "No intrusion." Andromaque insisted with a vague attempt at a smile. Recognizing her unsuccessful endeavor, her expression fell into momentary defeat as she looked beyond Leone. Her eyes again met with his before another attempt to smile had this time succeeded. "You've always been bold. I'm well accustomed to it."

     Startled by his inquiry towards her health, Andromaque heaved a sigh implicating she was at a loss of comfort and contemplating her next words with precise forethought. Prolonged hesitation resulted in an extensive pause before she shrugged her shoulders and lifted her brows as though to convey there was little concern. "It's just a cold. It should pass in the next few days. My eating habits have been persistent." Her eyes remained fixated on his, now depicting a solemn expression. For merely a moment, his doe eyes reflected what appeared to her as the child of his early youth. The corners of her lips tugged in opposing directions in a subtle twitch, concern now plaguing her.

     "Are you alright, my boy? Don't appear so perturbed." Taking a step to approach him, her hand extended towards his as though grasping for something in the dark until her fingers laced with his. "After your birthday, I will give whatever pleases you to make up for your troubles. You are a man now."

[altofairbayne-deactivated201407]

Obligated Secrets | Drago & Andromaque

Andromaque’s chambers weren’t too far away from his own, but far enough for a pleasant walk. According to some words floating around the garden, his dear twin sister has fallen ill. Most people were astonished to think that such a beautiful woman could be prey to such a thing, but Drago knew that Andromaque wasn’t the angel everyone thought she was. It seemed like now more than ever, their relationship is straining and overstretching itself. Usually when Drago talks to her, they end up quarreling. He knows that it will be the same situation now, but he the need to tell her of his plans was too great.

They were twins after all. Drago kept his brotherly act through his whole façade by telling her everything in hopes of still being how they were. She once described that it was his change that brought the destruction on their relationship, but she never quite understood that he could never be the man he was. That man died with the love of his life and as everyone knows there is no bringing back the dead.

His sister’s chambers were extravagant- as was everything in the palace at Queensgarden- and had guards posted near the doors. Drago wasn’t quite sure why Andromaque had them stationed there since he knew that she had the ability to kill someone by herself. But perhaps it was the state of her illness that caused her to have the guards there… Shrugging his shoulders, Drago approached the doors and with a nod from the guards, he knocked on the doors. He waited until he heard that he could enter before pushing the elegantly carved doors apart. He only wished that he had drunk more wine before visiting.

Drago’s dark eyes fell upon his twin, who was gently tucked into her bed with several pillows to prop her up. Her pale skin almost glowed a sickening green with the flickering light of the fire in the room. With no jewelry or dark powder to give the illusion of perfect beauty, Andromaque looked like she was dying- well compared to her maids who were tending to her every need.

“My apologies for intruding, dear sister,” Drago began with an appropriate bow, “There are some things I need to discuss with you. It seems opportune that I tell you when you are not surrounded by the whole court of Queensgarden. But it would be better if your maids were absent as well…”

[andromaquebeauroza]

     Propped up by four pillows with a single pillow to support her right arm, Andromaque stirred with restless demeanor beneath the sheets that only contributed to the sweat of her fever. Every ten minutes, a different maiden approached her with a wet cloth to dab against her forehead as though she were completely disabled. When again approached, she kindly pushed away the maiden's hand and with a smile, suggested she was fine.

     "I'd like to go for a walk." She said, attempting to appease her own wary conscience that insisted she was dying. "Truly, I feel fine." The same maiden with golden locks and fair skin knitted her brows together as though she was ready to object. Being cut short of such an opportunity, a man of tall stature entered the room who Andromaque quickly identified as Drago. With foreboding thoughts of death consuming her conscience, she felt genuine relief to see him. A smile of sincere utmost gratitude graced her lips as she watched him approach with gentle steps.

     "No intrusion." Andromaque dismissed whilst she waved away the soft spoken maiden. Straightening her posture against the four pillows that already accompanied her, she gestured him forward. Convinced he heard rumor of her sickness and pardoned himself of a day's duty to console his apprehension for her, she was immensely taken by his efforts. After all these years, had a fraction of his crippled soul returned to him? Returned to her? Had the malicious woman of his past released him of her perpetual grasp? The prospect of such a notion was nearly improbable, but fooled of her own weakness, she was desperate to believe it was so.

     Nevertheless, the tone he had taken to had forced her expression to fall into subtle dismay. He wanted to speak of political endeavors; she knew. Not even the threat of death spared her this topic. "Hm." She murmured to herself before eyeing the several maidens. "Out." She commanded sternly, the sudden shift in her demeanor already affecting the gloom of the atmosphere. She again looked unto Drago, though shifted her sight with a quiver of her lip before sinking into the pillows as she awaited their departure. The nearly inaudible sound of a door whisking shut had confirmed they were at least gone from the room.

     "I don't want to hear of Irene Haelstarv if this is what you've come to mention. You've humiliated our family enough. Mother, bless her heart wherever may she be, would have been ashamed. Ashamed of us all. I'm glad she is not here to witness our fall from grace." Her lips pressed into a thin line, attempting to shield sorrow with umbrage. "I have no idea what you've intended with that poor girl, but you will need to discard of that marriage. I am going to speak with Millard on siding with the souths of which I will assure the Winslows and Haelstarvs are killed so Rodrick can take the throne by his own accord. I cannot risk a threat to his claim. Irene will die and if you marry her, the Igniscors will not hesitate to kill you either. I wish to hear no more of it. You may go."

[tyceleone-deactivated20131105]

last note of tranquility || leone & andromaque

Leone had a myriad other deeds to attend to. Lords to meet, ladies to greet and so on. HIs irritation at the word ‘must’ mentioned more than once next to an obligation was visible, one could even feel it radiating off of him from a mile. His mother would have been able to sense it with ease, as he was taking long loud strides towards her bedroom. With no good reason. He was simply too frustrated to face anyone else.

"Mother, please do explain to me why I have to be kept from my training to entertain our guests?"

All he did was complaint, even though no one had forced him to actually entertain guests. His grumpy demeanor was simply a side- effect to his irritation and anger. The North party was roaming their castle as they liked, and he could do nothing about it. Channel the anger; it was a wise advice given to him on his first trainning session. Of course, it did not mean he was allowed to use his special attitude in the presence of his dear mother.

[andromaquebeauroza]

     Leone had conveyed overwhelming sentiment to validate his irritation as though she were not already well aware. Troubled by the throbbing of her head and the ache of her abdomen, his words were vague, though his demeanor could be sensed, As she struggled to maintain her poise in stance, she furrowed her brows and blinked repetitively with a gleam of moderate confusion. "Leone." She responded through a breathy reply, nearly sounding winded.

     "It is merely one day. It will not interfere with the rest of your long and prosperous life you have left to live. I promise."

[rodricktyce]

Things To Come || Rodrick & Andromaque

[rodricktyce]

“What?” Rodrick spluttered, face blanching of its own accord. If it weren’t for the back of his chair determinedly denying the escape he so desperately craved, or his mother’s hand anchoring against the overwhelming need to flee, he wagered he’d already be halfway across the castle by now. Some small part of him imagined she knew that too—that her touch was meant as much to keep him in one place as it was to steel his nerves.

She couldn’t honestly be suggesting what he thought she was, though… could she? It simply didn’t sit right in the depths of him. Being heir to Queensgarden was a terrifying enough prospect; the idea of seeing over Valedestoria in its entirety was enough to make Rodrick want to bar himself in his bedchambers, never to be seen or heard from again. To be responsible for so many people… Rodrick vigorously shook his head, words escaping him entirely. As far as he was concerned, his mother was wrong to put her faith in him when it came to such a feat.

Rodrick made a half-hearted attempt to pull his hand from hers – the weight of his mother’s hand searing through to his bones themselves – but ultimately decided against it, lacing his fingers with hers and squeezing tightly in some attempt to vocalise his concern.

“I’m not—“ A sigh of frustration escaped his lips. Both his throat and his chest felt too tight for any words to ever possibly slip through, his breaths coming out in shallow bursts through tightly-gritted teeth. Valedestoria would not want him. And why should they? He was little more than a boy in the eyes of men, one already plagued by his own demons at that.

Inhaling a shaky breath, Rodrick glanced up at her from beneath his lashes, a myriad of fears lurking behind his gaze. “Why me?”

[andromaquebeauroza]

     "Because we may die otherwise." For so long, Andromaque herself refused to admit to such a consequence as result for her actions. In the depths of her conscience, she was well aware of these grave repercussions. "I wept with such anguish for many nights once I had birthed you and Leone. By giving you life, I also condemned you. The prospect of Deston interfering once discovering I had given Millard not one, but two sons was grave. Part of me was certain I'd awaken to find you murdered in infancy." Andromaque's voice trembled subtly, failing to intervene with the delicacy of the topic. "I can be certain that before his death that will end his reign, he will kill us all. It's inevitable unless we find way to keep our heads in tact."

     A soft squeeze of Rodrick's hand validated she was frightened and sought comfort. To this, she'd not admit her vulnerability. There was a pause of furthermore contemplation; her eyes drooping nearly with regret. "I've always promised to protect you. But should Deston sack Queensgarden, my body between you and a hundred men will only be a moment's delay. I cannot lie to you any longer. My word conceals you from the concept of cruelty, but never the act of cruelty." Lifting her eyes to convey a more hopeful demeanor, her lips turned up and her grasp on his hand became less foreboding. There was another pause before she retracted her hand and stood back to her feet. Her fingers continued to fidget nervously, though her expression was persistent in maintaining a touch of confidence.

     "Leone is sworn to serve Millard and Nevaeh is blind. Furthermore, a woman. They'd never accept her." Placing her hands to her hips, she breathed a heavy sigh as though mildly irritated by the insinuation a woman was so irrelevant to reign by her own authority. "If we side now with the Souths, we give them the upper hand, thus assuring their victory. And when they are victorious, we'll simply take the throne for ourselves. The Northerners would never accept Aelorene as part of their monarchy while you... you would be in better graces."

[millardoftyce]

Pale Rose || Andromaque & Millard

The event was going on. People were dancing, jousting, laughing, drinking, brawling, simply having fun with all that happened. So far he hadn’t spoken to Deston, surely much to the King’s dismay but Millard couldn’t care less. He just sat there in his throne, awaiting the arrival of his wife. But as minutes more passed, and she still wasn’t announced he began to get worried. 

He got up from the throne, wanting to move out of the throne room to go to her chambers when he saw her in between the crowd. At first he was confused, if not agitated they hadn’t bothered to announce the Queen but it was quickly replaced by relief. At least nothing had happened that dangered her well being (Or did it?)

"My love, there you are." He said once he was close to her. Taking her by the hand before pressing a light peck on her surprisingly cold lips. "I was told you were ill. I hope you feel better?"

[andromaquebeauroza]

     Andromaque had taken hours of preparation to motivate herself to pardon herself from her own chambers. For a long while, she paced with profound nausea before succumbing to sickness yet again. The maidens to accompany her in her chambers insisted she excuse herself from this glorious event, though she refused crudely as though gravely insulted. To suggest dismissing herself on this occasion was an insult on its own. 

     With assistance, she readied for the event, though grunted nearly with every persistent effort. When she had finally emerged from her chambers, she was accompanied by two women to support her stance until she proved herself capable of standing her own ground before presenting herself in the ballroom. With a false smile and tired eyes, she greeted her audience, though conveyed no particular sentiment. Only Millard's approaching voice earned her sincere acknowledgement and gratitude.

     "Your Majesty." Andromaque greeted with a soft bow of her head. "I'm beginning to feel better, yes." She spoke with a quiver to her frail voice, though maintained a smile to support her statement. "It was just a cold and it should pass. In a few days, I may feel like myself again."

[daughtertothewest]

Storms Rising Beneath Skin | Nevaeh & Andromaque

The past fortnight had been good to her; the walls of her room had not had to raise their ears to cover their mortar from her shrieks more than a handful of times, and she had not been struck dumb once in the middle of the day. Their had not been many peaceful nights, but it was a good period for Nevaeh, and her body was stronger for the rest. She felt at ease with the world around her and the one that called to her from the other side of the veil - even the visions she had been receiving lately were less terrifying and all-consuming as they usually were. She still awoke shaking and layered in a film of sweat, but a chord of harmony had been struck between Nevaeh and the world behind her eyes. Perhaps peace would at last be found for her soul.

She was willing to ease into sleep that night, welcoming the embrace that was awaiting her as she closed her eyes. Open. Easily coaxed. Unsuspecting. And as she drifted from one world to the next, she warmed at the sight of her mother. Her beautiful mother, tall and slim and pale as she imagined her, radiating the same unbreakable, kind aura as a cloak. She knew this at once to be a vision, not a dream, from the rising temperature of her body and the slurred lines of the pictures before her. But she was not afraid.

Perhaps tonight, the Three Goddesses (or whomsoever allotted her these visions) would grant her something tender. She looked up at her mother, who was looming over her at double her size. The lovely figure smiled did not seem to see Nevaeh, like so many of her visions, she was a silent figure in a corner that was not involved in what she saw. Nevaeh watched with interest as her God-like mother (for she was God-like; so large and beautiful, and so tall) reached up to the moon with no trouble at all, encasing the planet in just one hand. From behind her back she withdraw a golden chalice, ripe and shining with rubies and precious gems all around the rim. Andromaque continued to squeeze the moon in her hand, and the great light let flow a liquid, a shining silver water from within its depths, which filled up the great chalice until silver filled up the gold. 

When it was full, and the moon emptied, her mother raised the cup to her lips and tilted it back, drinking the shimmering liquid to the last drop. She dropped the cup. For a moment, all was still. Then, she began to grow. It was hesitant, and with catches, as if someone was pushing down on her shoulders even as she stretched. Still, the once-tall Andromaque continued to sweep up into the sky. But suddenly, something interrupted her growth: she jerked, hunching over, as if she had been stabbed. She began shrieking and writhing horribly, and dream-Nevaeh cried out and fought to get past the veil and to her mother. She would not be moved. Instead, in all her horror, she watched her mother turn grey and ashen, as if someone had poured the remnants of a fire over her body. Her skin shriveled up over her bones, growing wrinkled and paper-thin. She at last fell into a heap upon the floor, barely breathing, her eyes black and hollow were gems once shone.

Nevaeh cried and jerked, clawing at the veil that banned her from touching her beloved mother. She must get to her, she must - she must - Mother! Mother! Mother, you must hear me! Mother, mother, mother!

"Mother!"

She jerked upwards, the word leaving her lips in reality. Her skin burned as if it had been prodded with a hot poker all over, leaving large patches of burning flesh in its wake. The rest of her shivered as if she has been left in Winterhaven. Her handmaids were upon her at once, having woken up from her awful shriek, but Nevaeh brushed their careful hands off of her immediately. “Off, off!” She had little command over her words, as her chin and body shook so fiercely. She clamored through the cold chamber into the hall, using the wall as her guide until she found the wood of her mother’s door. She wailed her name, shaking and crying, pounding on the door until her knees gave out and she was left leaning against the wood frame, sobbing into her hands as she tried to remove the images from her mind. It could not be, what the visions told her. She would not allow it. 

[andromaquebeauroza]

     Leaned over the fireplace to her bed chambers, Andromaque had just suffered agonizing regurgitation before placing a hand to the mantel that was intended to support her shaken stance. A handmaid handed her a wet cloth that felt cold to her warm touch before Andromaque placed the cloth to her forehead by her free hand and sighed heavily. Fear furthermore provoked her sickness to overcome her, though she instead bit back her lip and swallowed harshly to avoid the impact.

     "It's just a cold." She lied through gritted teeth to pacify her wary maidens that all crowded. Their presence suffocated her conscience and left her feeling limited in her breaths. As though she were only plagued my momentary discomfort, she retracted from the mantel and placed the cloth to her lips with a slight grimace. "Fetch me a chalice of water." Andromaque demanded to whomever listened with the cloth still pressed to her mouth. The sound of scattering feet concluded there was no hesitation to abide by her commands. With small step, she approached a nearby chair and seated herself, conveying a sense of relief. Still remained one maiden standing in the same spot, her apprehensive gaze fixated on Andromaque.

     Removing the cloth from her lips, she smiled softly. "Would you be so kind to open a window?" She inquired before again holding the cloth to her parted lips. Occupied by Andromaque's request, the girl turned her attention, presenting Andromaque the opportunity to express her sincere sentiment, her eyes ready to water over. Regret devastated her; this feeling again.

     Suddenly, frantic knocks averted Andromaque's attention from her sickness to the voice beyond the door; Nevaeh. Not a moment's hesitation passed before Andromaque approached her door in haste manner. The door swung open by her own hand, revealing her distressed daughter, weeping against the frame of the door. By The Three, she's had a vision. I've condemned my family. Grasping Nevaeh by her hand, Andromaque guided her into her embrace while attempting to hush her sobs. As though it were habitual, the same maiden to open the window rushed to close the door.

     "What have you seen, Nevaeh?" Andromaque inquired of her frantically, attempting to hide the fear in the quivering of her voice while stroking her hair with ginger touch. "What is it, sweetling?"

[rodricktyce]

Things To Come || Rodrick & Andromaque

[rodricktyce]

Rodrick narrowed his eyes in contemplation as she spoke, breathing a tiny sigh of relief when she shared her own apprehensions, comforted that his suspicions weren’t completely unfounded. Clasping his hands together and letting them rest upon his lap, he leant forward, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. “Grievously unsettled,” he answered, a frown tugging insistently at his lips, brows furrowing of their own accord. “I don’t know if I could stand aside and watch it happen, honestly.” He didn’t share the same aptitude his brother possessed in combat – he was a better archer than swordsman, at least – and if such a thing were possible, diplomacy would always win out over outright war in his opinion. If Queensgarden ever were endangered as his mother suggested though… Rodrick understood why she’d feel protective over Winterhaven.

He found himself nodding along with her assertion. A native-born ruler would always win out over a foreigner. A Northerner should sit the throne in Winterhaven, a Westerner in Queensgarden, and a Southerner in Fervention—it made sense. “I agree. Their cause is just, but for them to sit the throne in Winterhaven would undoubtedly bring more suffering. Even if the victims of such change.”

“What would you propose, then?” Rodrick, admittedly, found himself at a loss as to the best avenue to pursue. He held a desire to help the rebels achieve the improvements they so desperately needed in Fervention, without a shadow of a doubt, but he couldn’t find it in him to want to compromise Winterhaven in the process. How they’d appease one of the rebels’ requests without the other was a delicate question, indeed.  

[andromaquebeauroza]

Andromaque fondled idly with the material of her skirts, pinching the thin first layer of fabric between her index and thumb. Just so as she did in childhood whilst contemplating. It became habitual after sometime; perhaps prompted by a sense of either anguish or vexation. "You are my son." Andromaque stated matter-of-factly. "And thus, you are no foreigner to Winterhaven. Beauroza blood runs thick in you as Tyce and Beauroza is of royal descent." Tilting her head with a simper, her sights fixated on Rodrick momentarily before retreating back to her fidgeting fingers in a pause that would permit him the opportunity to ponder her words. "Somewhere down the line, we are in relation to the Winslows."

Subtly, Andromaque removed herself of her seat, though maintained her position beside the armchair. "It is now clear what The Three have intended. I knew of my significance." Her simper grew, now depicting a vehement grin occupied by overwhelming sentiment. In a slow stride, Andromaque neared Rodrick and knelt before his seated figure with the intention of meeting his eye. Her hand grasped for his where she proceeded to caress her thumb against his knuckles in an affectionate gesture. "We will aid the Southerners before we seize Winterhaven for ourselves and you will take Deston's place. Millard will continue his reign over Queensgarden whilst you will have the throne of the thrones. We will be the most powerful family written into history. Would you like that?"

Her earnest emphasis over her own derived tactics could have easily concluded there was no vex, though pervasive confidence in her demeanor. To have Rodrick atop that throne, Winterhaven would be primarily under her influence for years to come. The establishment that was once thriving before her own birth would again redeem itself to the potential of its full glory in given thanks to her efforts. "Let the Southerners kill Deston and his family and we will take the throne. The Winslows, the Haelstarvs. I have no doubt it is what they intend; to remove them entirely of succession. Furthermore, there can be no threat to your claim and you will be the king of Valedestoria. You will hold a title above your father as he still lives."

[rodricktyce]

Things To Come || Rodrick & Andromaque

[rodricktyce]

His mother’s embrace was as much a comfort to him now as it ever had been, and he returned the gesture in equal measure, chuckling beneath his breath. Briefly distracted from the purpose of his visit, he quickly came to his senses again when she’d motioned for him to sit down. Lowering himself gently into the chair, Rodrick pushed an errant hair away from his eyes before looking back at her, nodding absent-mindedly as she spoke.

“I need nothing.” Rodrick briefly contemplated whether or not he should mention the new concerns that had arisen, now that a letter from Irene lay in ashes in his fireplace, but ultimately decided against it. ‘Twould only sully the issue further; and he had no intentions of ousting his friend, not to his mother, nor anyone else.

"Though I do seek your opinion." He tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair. “On the rebels,” he added, before clearing his throat and pulling himself upright. “I am sympathetic, but I find myself… disconcerted over what is to happen should they succeed in their coup against the North.” Rodrick opened his mouth to speak again before shutting it and exhaling a sharp breath. “What did you make of them, Mother?”

[andromaquebeauroza]

"Nice folk." Andromaque responded with reluctance to form the rest of her sincerest opinion. She furrowed her brows as though to contemplate her words before again parting her lips to speak. "As are you, I am sympathetic of their cause. It sounds so familiar." Andromaque chuckled heartily beneath her breath and leaned into her chair, finding some awkward comfort. It was true that their intentions were seemingly pure, but nevertheless, Winterhaven was not theirs to conquer as it had been implied to Andromaque. The unique atmosphere still harbored a place in her heart consisting of cherished memories and a kind childhood. The only bitter aspect of Winterhaven was Deston himself. His beliefs were influential among the folk, thus entitling them to be a somewhat despised community. "Winterhaven is my home, Rodrick. Just as Queensgarden is yours. Even if you did one day part ways with this place, how would you feel if a foreign cause intended to take your old home and enforce their authority?"

Now that it had been spoken aloud, it made her far more apprehensive of the Southerners. "As much as I'd love to support them, I will not willingly help them take the last of my childhood to make it their own. Someone of winter's blood should take that seat. Someone who can genuinely instate peace." She shrugged her brows and pursed her lips as to convey a lack of care strictly towards the Southerners while she was still bothered by anguish for Winterhaven. 

"I have been contemplating things since our meeting with them." Andromaque mumbled with some less confidence. "I trust that girl means well, but I don't endow my faith in what she'd do with Winterhaven once she has seized it. Who is to say she won't set flame to the ice? Who is to say she won't kill everyone there? In spite of the horror that resides in those walls, there is innocence. That place is still home to many. Children, women and men."

[rodricktyce]

Things To Come || Rodrick & Andromaque

A strange sort of quiet had overwhelmed Queensgarden once their guests had left. Not that his home was lacking entertainment, by any means, it just seemed infinitely smaller without such a large crowd of people to fill it. Rodrick was glad in a way. He’d not indulged all that much in the festivities anyway, preferring to keep to the edges of the fray whenever possible. His shoulders lifted in relief when the last of their company had departed. Still, there was an emptiness about the place now that unsettled him somewhat.

Wiping his eyes half-heartedly, he bit back a yawn behind his fist, striding purposefully to where his mother currently resided. He’d wanted to discuss yesterday’s meeting with the Southern rebels in greater detail, having not gotten a chance to talk to her about the matter as much as he’d wanted to after they left. It would’ve been silly for her to reveal the entirety of her thoughts on the matter at the time—Rodrick simply wanted to know where her true feelings on the subject lay.

He gave a firm knock against the door before letting himself in, signalling for his guard to wait outside. It didn’t take long to locate her. “Mother,” he uttered, bowing his head in reverence. “Might I speak with you a moment?”

[andromaquebeauroza]

Deston's departure was a small tension that Andromaque had been relieved of. There was a new found sense of gratitude for the life she had pursued after the encounter, though she pitied Pascella. Their mother would despise everything the each of them became lest she foreseen this fate. Perhaps it was the motivation that inspired her to allegedly take her own life or disappear from court.

Andromaque was peacefully reclined in a chair among the confinements of her study with a fictional book wedged between her fingers. One of the tales Nevaeh loved in her early youth. It was reminiscent of the past; a story she knew by her mother's nightly accompaniment whom never failed to soothe the Beauroza siblings into an abysmal slumber with tales. Of course, the ones told by her mother had been modified for children. As she read the actual text, the story itself was presented as far more fatal and gruesome. It seemed many took an interest into such.

A knock had averted Andromaque's attention from the book, guiding her eyes to the door as she awaited her unexpected company. Revealing Rodrick behind the door, she smiled and set aside the text on a nearby desk before retreating from her chair to greet him with a generous embrace. Quickly pulling away from him, she shut the door behind him and gestured to a nearby chair. "Sit, I beg." Andromaque was accustomed to this inquiry and knew well by now that it expressed a concern of some sort. Without any hesitation, she returned to the chair she was seated in only moments ago. "You know you may always come to speak with me at your convenience. What is it you need?"

[aeloreneiginscor]

The Audience || Southern Rebels, Millard and Andromaque

[cecilaeigniscor]

Fidgeting, Cecilae kept grasping at her hands in front of her. She had hopes that everything would end well with this counsel meeting her sisters had allowed her to be a part of, but she knew nothing of talks of war or strategy. She couldn’t help but feel her stomach turning at the thought of possibly hurting this meeting and losing the West’s help. She knew at least that the West was the key to helping their people back home. She thought over all that had happened before during the visit to Queensgarden and all the friends she’d made. She hoped all went well. As the door opened and they made their way in, Cecilae was in awe at the size of the throne room. Her mouth was wide as she gazed at the wide windows and the different pillars throughout the room. She looked at the thrones last and took her bow as quickly as she could with the others. She let yet another endless smile fall on her face as she took in the people in the room. Their fates lied in their hands, and while Cecilae hated war she knew they would do all they could to help their people.

[andromaquebeauroza]

Andromaque awaited the sight of swinging doors with eager eyes in tense silence. With every moment that passed, she grew less tolerant of the wait. Seated beside her was Millard whom appeared to sustain more composure than Andromaque herself in spite of whatever his nerves might have told him. Standing on her opposing side was Rodrick to whom she kept her word. Other than the three that currently occupied the room, not even a guard was permitted beyond the boundaries of the doors. When they finally revealed a small party of southern residents, Aelorene standing out to Andromaque in thanks to their recent encounter, Andromaque tilted her chin to the air and smiled graciously. There was a momentary pause of silence before Andromaque gestured for the doors to close behind their audience. Leaning forward in her throne, she examined the few that stood before her.

"You may rise." She insisted flatly. "Now then. I am first to acknowledge that we are not your enemies and we merely intend for the better of Valedestoria. I plead that for your own sake, you abide by the Queensgarden etiquette while in the presence of His Majesty, the king." Unlike Deston, Andromaque hadn’t bothered to add any boundaries to Millard’s title. So long as he was in the residence of Queensgarden, there was no need to. "Should either of us feel insulted by your presence, you will be escorted from the room. We will speak like civilized humans. I am not Deston and do not by any means intend to act as savagely as he. There will be no raised voices and no crude remarks or profanity. Queensgarden upholds a kind reputation with no tolerance for cruelty. With that said, we will begin our meeting."

Turning to acknowledge Millard with a quick glance, her gaze fixated back on the foreign residents.

[andromaquebeauroza]

Seeking Affirmation || Millard&Andromaque

[andromaquebeauroza]

millardtyce:

Millard took a deep breath and nodded against Andromaque, moving to position himself under the covers. It had been a long time since they had last shared a bed and he had missed being with his wife in this way. He looked to her as she spoke, “Which is exactly why I fear for us now,” he whispered, sitting up resting his back against the headboard, as Andromaque had done moments before. “Nothing bad has ever happened to us, what if our streak of good fortune is at it’s peak?” he asked, Millard kept his bearings about him, wise beyond his years the King of Queensgarden was well known for his calm demeanor. “Come here, my love.” he said, extending his arms so that she could move and lean against him. 

He wrapped his arms around Andromaque securely, allowing her to rest her head on his chest. He could feel himself calming down knowing that his wife was safe in his arms but could feel her unrest. “Forgive me for speaking of it, my love.. I never want to burden you.” he whispered, placing kisses on her head. Millard was still worried, but for tonight he wanted to keep both of their minds off of Deston and his schemes. “I can’t remember the last time I was so comfortable in bed.” he murmured, against her ear kissing her softly down he neck and on her collarbone. 

He moved them so that they were closer together and swung around so that she was underneath him, his arms keeping most of his weight so not to crush her. He smirked at Andromaque’s position and began kissing her, covering whatever skin was exposed in her night gown. He moved upwards slightly, pressing his lips against hers, moving in perfect harmony to her needs and smiling against her, at the realization that they both would be having a restless night ahead of them. “I have missed you so, my beautiful Andromaque.” 

"We have already risked our lives for the life we now live. It is time that we live in peace. The Three favor us." Her smile faltered, though she hadn't dared look to Millard, apprehensive of what her eyes may have encountered. Worrisome to reveal her sincere sentiment. If anyone knew her better than she knew herself, it was he. Even Drago played naive, perhaps for the sake of sparing merely himself. Andromaque was no fool to believe the conflict had ended. It was merely starting.

The demeanor of the room shifted nearly immediately, presumably in Millard's attempt to clear his mind of inconsistencies. Impulsively, Andromaque did succumb to his advances as she had so many times before. His passion for her was still as it was the day they had validated their love. Andromaque was solely a girl at the time; attractive for her youth. Time had not done much to change her appearance, though like any, she was not immortal. Time aged every mortal being and in due time. the years would follow close on her tracks and prove unto everyone that she was no better than the next man. That she too would die a day soon. It sometimes plagued her to believe she'd not die in peace. Her life was never intended for that much.

Knowing what it was he desired, Andromaque returned his potent kiss, leaning into his figure atop her with subtlety. "I've missed you quite as much, my own heart." A single hand trailed to his cheek before she proceeded to tangle her fingers between the strands of his hair forcibly. It was then that she took the opportunity to shove Millard away from her so that he again lay flat against the side of the bed he claimed for the night. She hadn't hesitated in leaning over to place kisses against his neck, following up to his jaw until her lips again met with his. A single hand brushed against his chest in a motion that was typically intended to comfort one while she resumed fixating her primary attention on indulging him in repetitive kisses. "And I will show you how much I've missed you." Slowly, the same hand eased down until her fingertips met with the material of his nightwear intended to conceal only the lower half of his body. Gingerly, she unlaced him to loosen the undergarment before her hand trailed down whereof she began to stroke him.

The pace of which she maintained increased with each moment in passing. Her lips scarcely left his only to whisper of enticing suggestions while she proceeded to quicken her strokes. As though eager to appease his needs, she finally released him to positioned herself atop him forcibly. Taking his member into her hand again, she guided him to her entrance, allowing him to penetrate her with a soft groan. She leaned into his shoulder, stifling her moans while perpetuating her consistent thrusts upon him. It took her a moment to gain composure before she lifted her head from his shoulder to hasten the pace.

Completely enraptured by the heat of the moment, her gaze remained fixated on him, their eyes meeting only every so often to commence a further passion that made her desire him more.

[myratyce]

Peace Once More || Andromaque & Myra

     After the festivities died out and their guests had returned home, Myra had taken a deep breath of relief, glad nothing too terrible had happened with both the north and south in one vicinity. She’d enjoyed the entertainment, been enchanted by some of it, some of the people, but she had still longed for the peace to fall once more upon Queensgarden. The peace that allowed for her to ride off on her own and be let alone to her thoughts or that allowed her to once more enjoy the company of her new sister. She’d grown to adore Andromaque and knew she would be missing time with her as she hosted guests. It was splendid to approach her with the idea of a ride out and time to catch up with one another.

     Myra had made her way to the stable early, to give a little time to her horse, talk to her before taking her out. She was expecting Andromaque rather soon, however, so she was sure to ready the bridle and saddle and a satchel of treats for the mare, all with a smile and kind touch.

     All her attention had been given to the horse until she heard the soft pad of steps on the pathway that she knew to be Andromaque.

[andromaquebeauroza]

The relief of Deston's departure had permitted Andromaque some time to spare beyond the confinements of the Queensgarden palace; vowing her time to Myra in specific. He bid his farewell at the hour of dawn and was by now hours away from Queensgarden. The release of tension had a significant impact on her mood for the better, allowing her to present herself with smiles and a confident stride. As she neared the stable grounds where she intended to meet with Myra, the young woman came into her view only but as a small speck. With each step, Myra's figure became clear. A Tyce; that she was.

"That one is beautiful." Andromaque stated while nearing Myra and her companion. "What is the name?" Andromaque had never taken the same particular fondness to horses nor passion as Myra. Perhaps no one had. Her adoration for these creatures was beyond comprehension. However, Andromaque was still somewhat acquainted with how they functioned. She traveled often in her youth, yet her travels became limited when she settled among Queensgarden, finding there wasn't a necessity to do so unless duty called for it.

"I've never seen someone bestow so much affection before." Andromaque joked under a breathy laugh.