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@asterofpomerania
Goodness, ASTER JUDITH HESSE has arrived in London. SHE is 22, of the POMERANIA HESSES. Though they are NEW to the Season, we can only describe them as PECULIAR and EYE-CATCHING, dear reader. Accompanied by HER CHILDHOOD COMPANION, they have settled in and are accepting social calls. But be warned: they are known for their CLEVER SENSE OF CRUELTY.
francesfitzroy:
October 10, 1799
Drumlanrig Castle
Selkirkshire, Scotland
Dear Lady Hesse,
Thank you for your letter. When one is unable to travel, to hear of a friend’s adventures is consolation. I regret that I do not have similar exploits to regale you with. Settling on a black ribbon for my hat is the extent of my news.
I am glad to hear that Prince Johann is rejuvenated by the country air. Another correspondent of mine expressed a similar appreciation for it. While I agree that said correspondent might benefit from being away from the city, I have had my fill of it.
I did hear of Prince Sebastian’s unfortunate injury. What a pity. I would hate to think him uncomfortable on his wedding day. I had not realized he and Miss Needham had already married.
On the subject of marriage, I do find your ambivalence toward it surprising. As you most likely learned during this past Season, sharing a life with someone outside of marriage is a foreign concept to the English. We laud it as a sacred covenant that will improve a woman’s character and produce heirs to fill the empty spaces in pedigree charts and church pews. The title, estate and general societal deference a bride receives when entering into marriage is something of an additional wedding gift. I admit that most of my admiration for the institution comes from this latter offering as I do not think I have the patience to be “managed” and, if I may confess something, I do not know that I will ever want children.
What you describe between yourself and Prince Johann sounds more like a matrimony of “spirit”, a shared understanding that rests on the intangible. You are far more trusting than I. Feelings can be incredibly fleeting. How can you be convinced that they will not waver?
I can not say that I have ever considered any path but marriage, but then I do not possess your bohemian spirit.
I loved someone once. Love is the correct tense, I suppose, but they are gone now. I can say with conviction that they have my whole heart. That feeling was only exacerbated by their departure.
Perhaps there is something to be said for the intangible after all.
With Sincere Regard,
Lady Frances Fitzroy
23 October 1799 Somewhere along the Black Sea
My dearest Lady Fitz-Frances,
I think sometimes people forget that life is very long. You English certainly do. Everything must be done just-so and everyone dressed just-so with the hair just-so and all of the pretty words arranged like a puzzle just-so, just-so, just-so. It is quite elaborate, this game you play. All of the prancing in the park and dancing in squares. I found it exhausting to keep up! I do not know how you could ever hope to find something real in the midst of all the spun sugar.
Today I walked along the water. It smells like brine, here, and the plants are all dark, but the sky is very, very blue and beneath it, I feel both large and infinitesimally small. Is that not a miracle, Lady Fitz? To be both polarities at once?
Perhaps, as you say, there are other miracles, too. My heart resides in another, and I carry his own with me. You fret for trust as though such a thing when truly possessed can be broken. You only question because you have not lived it. You will, Lady Fitz. You’ll see. You are not spun sugar and candy floss, though you look very pretty in a hat. Just-so.
Do you have snow?! We delight in snow. I cannot wait for chocolates and brandy-tea, for watching the Von Beckers slip on the icy stones. It is a merriment. Life is long, Lady Fitzy. The world is a delight.
Yours, Aster not-in-Pomerania
francesfitzroy:
31 August, 1799
Drumlanrig Castle
Selkirkshire, Scotland
Dear Lady Hesse,
I regret the delay in my reply. Please do not believe it a reflection of the writer’s appreciation for your own letter, which was a welcome surprise. Your correspondence initially arrived to the London house shortly after my departure and required forwarding.
I am flattered to have made such an impression on you, albeit a melancholic one. Again, I must ask you to forgive me. For all that Her Majesty is an excellent host, watercress does not sit well with me and I found myself unsettled when we last spoke. I can assure you that your letter now finds me in much brighter spirits
As is English custom, London has been abandoned for less cosmopolitan climes. The city’s pleasures have been exhausted and we return to the country to remind ourselves of why we left it in the first place. I write to you from Selkirkshire, Scotland, which is similar to London in that it too is part of the British empire. Much of the comparison stops there.
An offer made once is a courtesy, but twice I have to believe you sincere. I confess your invitation is exceedingly tempting. Unfortunately, my absence these past several months has made my parents anxious for my company and I will need to remain at Drumlanrig for the time being. I hope an opportunity will present itself in the near future for a visit, I am eager for the taste of something new.
You compliment my necklace, but I found your hat at luncheon impossible to overlook, your taste excessively fashionable. I am having my own hat made, to be topped with ostrich feather. It only seems appropriate that I ask you which trim you might recommend I select. I have enclosed the ribbon samples from the milliner for your consideration.
I am unskilled when it comes to languages, but talented at inference. Your kleinerschatzi sounds charming, though when it comes to Prince Sebastian’s schatzi I do wonder– are you certain it the dog is to blame for the foul smell?
Again, I am forced to decline your generosity. Drumlanrig is home to a number of deerhounds and I fear a kleinerschatzi of my own would not fare well amongst a pack of dogs several times its size.
I would like to offer my sincere congratulations regarding your engagement to Prince Johann. May I be so bold as to say that your union brings me even greater pleasure than that of Prince Sebastian and Miss Needham. When the date of the wedding is settled, please do share so that I may send a gift.
Kind Regards,
Lady Frances Fitzroy
Early October, 1799 The Alps
Aha! Dear Lady.
You sent your letter to the wrong address; we are not in Sansoucci any longer! We are vagabonds, wild to the world. Today we ate scones with burned figs in the presence of monks and were not allowed to speak except in the spaces between the bells.
I think the fresh air calms my prince. He is much himself when he is away from Mother. I imagine the same is true for everyone. Mother is like a thick shroud, oppressive and smelling of old water.
You are learning the drums?! How inventive. That is not ladylike at all, Lady, and I do commend you for it.
Ostriches smell terrible. [Several dots scatter out on the page, as though the writer was suddenly distracted.] Basti had several. Did you hear the news? Basti was shot in the arsch. Imagine! Like a deflated balloon. We have many happy moments with the memory.
Basti is married. He is still the kronprinz but now he has a prinzessin to keep him occupied. That is a blessing. When Basti is lonely he finds another dog.
I do not know if my prince and I will marry. Or perhaps we are already. We have had so many adventures, Lady Fitzy, we dance in fields and venture into mountain valleys, we eat with simple people and show them feasts made for kings. We dance and we drink and we play chase in the pine forests. We may have been married between all of this. It feels like we are. I do not know.
Do you know what it is to love someone with your whole heart?
Warm regards, Aster of the Alps
herr-herzog:
“He thinks with his cock.”
Johann clicked his tongue. Shredded a new handful of grass. Threw half at her.
“Nein. There is no thinking involved, if Basti chose…that.”
A thought there flashed. Something he had meant to bring up, before.
“Pinkes Haar!” he echoed, delighted.
Visions of a line of children (except Johann made it a point to never look at children, disgusting as they were, so if they were faceless blobs of slightly smaller size, only Aster would know). Crowned with tufts of berry-pink hair.
Crowned.
Johann’s face darkened then, bits of grass slipping through his suddenly lax grasp.
“Aster. Aster.”
Pulled himself upright to stare her in the face (in her eyes, into the reflection of his face in them).
“What happened with the Count. Mother did this to us. Mother, die Königin.” The queen.
Johann’s eyes were unblinking, lips downturned. A nearby von Becker caught the warning signs and dispatched himself to fetch drinks and distraction.
“Aster. This Englisch Fraulein of Basti’s, this mother-of-pink-hair. She will be queen. She has no love for us.”
Unspoken: What would she do?
“Mother likes to play games too,” Aster counseled, as though she were the mother indulging a child in a game of make-believe. The count was never for her, and everyone knew -- even papa, though he wished for it to be otherwise. All roads lead to the same outcome, papa in the Queen’s favor. It mattered not how he got there.
Aster sighed, staring up at the sky. So blue that it almost hurt.
“I do not care for them. Any of them.”
She sat up suddenly, staring at her companion. It was so clear, in simple clothes in a simple field, with only the very best of von Beckers for attendance. This was what mattered, Aster and Johann. She told him so: “Johann.” For his downturn, a line in her brow, intensity shaping contour into the softness of her cheeks. “They are needlessly complex. They add noise and trouble. All of them. Mother. Papa. The Count. Basti and his cock-thoughts.”
In that moment, Aster knew what she wanted.
“We wish to leave them behind. We have outgrown them all. We cannot help it, and we cannot go back.”
A small grin appeared, quirking up the corners of her lips.
“Let’s explore.”
Mid-August, 1799 Sansoucci Palace, Potsdam, Prussia
Dear Lady Fitzy --
Forgive me! I forget your name, exact. I do recall the prettiness of the necklace that you wore at the Queen’s luncheon. And I must confess, the sadness in your eyes haunts me to this very day.
How are you? I am very fine. Potsdam is ten thousand times better than London, so very gray and dreary. Here the sun shines all the time, and when it does not, we eat little cakes. My prince captured a kleinerschatzi for me, and it is much finer than the schatzi that we saw at the lunch-party. Prince Sebastian’s dog always smells of sour fish.
But enough of men! There are no men here, this paper only serves for ladies. You must forgive me my egregious delay in writing to you since our meeting. When I returned to Prussia, my papa tried to have me married! To a count! It was silliness, of course, all perplexity. We have sorted it away and now Prince Johann and I are happy again. I am studying for autumnal topiaries. I think I should like a handful of squirrels.
Ack! Lady! You must keep me to task. For I have written, of course, to inquire of your welfare -- and also to see if you should like to visit, as we discussed. We can ride white horses and eat spun sugars and all the men of Prussia will fawn over you (except my prince, for he is mine). Would you like a kleinerschatzi? I shall endeavor to find one.
London makes even the prettiest of ladies terribly sad. Leave it, and come to the sunshine.
Devotedly, Lady Aster Hesse
@francesfitzroy
herr-herzog:
“So ein Sauwetter.” Dreary weather, and even drearier people. “We should have left sooner.”
Johann closed his eyes. The grass beneath them was fresh and smelled green. The blue reflected back warmth onto his skin, reflecting back the blue of Aster’s (their) eyes.
“Poor Basti. He has been trapped there so long, he has tricked himself into thinking he enjoys it. Schiesse.”
England, heavy with its fog and rules and ugly people with long faces. Seeing Basti there was a shock. Even the familiar face was turning Englisch, long and dour and disapproving.
Johann opened his eyes, no longer wanting that image before him.
Turned, heedless of the crushed grass now on his peasant blouse (scratchy, until he threw it at a von Becker who had it hastily mocked up with silk lining).
“Do we think he married her? That Englisch Fraulein. Red hair.” He contemplated a blade of grass. Rubbed it between his fingers. “The one who could not read.”
Let go, and watched the shredded pieces drift lazily away on the breeze.
“It is a joke. What will she know of Prussia? Of ruling?”
The air was thick with that mossy, fresh scent of wildflowers and earth, and Aster preferred the cloying sweetness of spun sugar and perfumed roses. She sneezed, a pert and punctuative thing, her head dropping back into the grass.
“Basti has always been dull,” Aster proclaimed, though that habit -- of chancing a quick glance, of reading her companion’s mood -- remained. It was not until Johann tore away from Potsdam that he seemed even the least bit like himself again. The air in the palace grew putrid. “He is not like us.”
We are different. We are exceptional. No one understands what it is to be us.
“He did,” Aster’s voice held a tinge of dismay, though it was more for narrative effect than of any real interest. “Basti is not like you.” Her head lolled sideways in the grass, reaching over to dust a tiny, white flower away from Johann’s hair. Her grin turned absolutely vile. “He thinks with his cock.”
Aster giggled.
“Their children will have pinkes Haar!”
herr-herzog:
Johann twitched his nose. When the tickling along it did not stop, he raised a hand to bat it away.
“Nein.”
Turned, flinging out said arm to encircle Aster as well (for it was Aster, of course it was Aster, of course she was still here).
“Too early.” Murmured against her hair, content as he snuffled in, as Schweini often did. Then, louder, “Too bright.”
The von Beckers standing at attention sprung into action. Blessed shadows fell over his face.
“Verdammt diese Habsburger. Their endless parties.” A thoughtful pause. “Good Tokaji though.” Excellent party overall, if not a little stiff. Nothing on the pinched English parties. Except… “Did you see? They have a Johann here.” A moment where he bristled, then, smugly, “Only an Archduke though. Not a prince.”
But his heart wanted mountains, and no one said no to a prince.
Johann exhaled, then slowly dragged himself upright.
“Von Becker. Mountains.”
One of them stepped forward smartly. “Mein Prinz, they recommend the Tyrol region. Innsbruck has lovely palaces with mountain view. Der Kaiserliche Hofburg…”
His hand flapped. “Ja, make the preparations already. Do not bore us.”
Another palace. Another round of simpering nobles, who, even if they spoke the same language (finally, a civilized tongue), were all still so dull.
Johann sat up straight.
“Aster. Aster. Shall we play pretend?”
>> A day or so later, Tyrol, a meadow just outside of Innsbruck
Johann flung out his arms. Essayed a twirl, delighted.
“Look, Aster. Do I make a convincing peasant?”
Somewhere off to the side, a von Becker was exchanging coins and quiet words with a small family. The father was missing his cleanest outfit. Another set of servants had been put to work redecorating the quaint mountainside hut.
Laughter spilled out -- true delight encapsulated in sound. Aster’s smile went so wide it nearly split her face in two, the world around them grew hazy and unimportant. When Johann was happy, the world felt light. She clapped her hands together.
“Wunderbar! Du bist perfekt.”
What they didn’t notice -- what they never understood -- was that Aster meant it. Everyone handled the prince with gloved hands, all tightly curtailed respect and thin lips. Aster’s adoration was not a performance. It was not a farce.
She leapt up, suddenly, the embroidery of the linen skirt swathed around her waist catching on wildflowers. With few steps, she bounded toward him, reaching out one hand to catch his as she, too, spun in the field.
A small dance began, a strange amalgamation of a courtly quadrille and a farmhand’s jig. To the left in a circle, and the right again, chasing each other around the middle until Aster’s sides ached with laughter. At once, she reached out and caught his other hand, pulling him forward and locking their grip tightly, their wrists caught in the middle. “Faster,” Aster shouted, flush rising high in her cheeks. Her feet carried her quick, running so quickly, their bodies a counterweight to the circle they formed as they spun. “Faster, faster, ja!”
And all at once, she was back against the wildflowers, the sky impossibly blue overhead.
Aster sighed, at peace.
“Why did we ever leave this?” Here was not a place, but a person, a world that grew only between them. “London had nothing for us.”
herr-herzog:
Maybe it had been the separation. It had been the first time they had been apart. First time it had been for so long, and at that distance (across the sea, over land). First time where the separation had been imposed upon them.
Princes did not suffer imposition.
Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe that was the cause for the sudden sourness of the kiss. It felt like a wrench, like a limb pulled backwards, at his instinctive reaction to Aster’s dismissal. Unnatural, for when had what they wanted been split between Aster-want and Johann-want?
Maybe it was the setting. Sanssouci had been his-hers-theirs for so long that he could not imagine anywhere else, until this. Mother had shown that this too could be taken away, as if he were still some naughty child to be denied a toy.
Maybe it was time to leave them to his idiot Bruder and his Englisch bride, and see which they chose. (Mother, and by proxy Father, had already made their choice clear.)
Johann raised a hand. A von Becker appeared.
“A map. No, a globe. The biggest one we have.” The man had already bowed and dashed off. He frowned. He had been about to consider adding also a demand for darts. And more champagne.
The second von Becker had been sent on the heels of the first when Johann stretched back out by the fountain, chin on the edge. Eyes contemplative on the sprinkles of water, Aster (his reflection) in his peripheral vision.
“Mountains or the beach, meine Liebling? Which do we prefer this summer?”
“Mountains.” Aster declared. She reached out as the globe appeared, and used her longest two fingers to spin it. Hazel eyes trailed lazily back to her companion, her hand leaving the world to travel through his hair. A smile flinched. “We wish to be above everyone.”
---
Salzburg
“A lecture? Pah.” Aster returned to the lovebirds in their cage, fingers wrapped around the bars. They cooed and fluttered. When they settled, they would sing. Von Becker (a tall one) lingered in the doorway. “We do not wish to sit for lecture. It bores us.”
He had stuttered on about grand thinking, the true gift of the city being their ideas, but Aster had none of it. Afternoon sunlight glinted off the gilded edges, the wide street open to them far below. In the distance, snow peeked off the mountains.
“But if you would just--”
“Nein.”
Aster enjoyed saying no. No to this and no to that. No, often, and sometimes as a replacement for other words. You are not listening. It will only cause trouble. But she could not say it to Johann, she knew. Even once had been a mistake.
Turning, she swept out of the room -- away from the lovebirds and lecture-lovebird-von-becker, and into the bedroom. Gathering her skirts -- lilac -- she climbed onto the bed from the lower corner, ending up knelt beside him. “Darling.”
Aster’s touch was light, brushing along his nose.
“Wake up. We wish to ride to see the mountains.”
herr-herzog:
Stolberg-Wernigerode. Learning the name, progress. A Count, with little else overall. A conclusion that Aster had already reached.
Johann lashed out, blade in hand. A clump of offending greenery flew. Another gesture, and the von Beckers coordinated the rotation of the current bush.
Aster, with that pig? Unthinkable. Mother was insulting them all, did she not see? England had blinded all of them.
“There is no delight once you are wed.” You, not We. It did not make any sense for Mother and Father to separate them now. Did they mean to also auction him off to a foreign merchant’s daughter?
“Aster. Aster.” Blade handed off to another footman, exchanged for the hot towel as he made his way back to her. Above them, the sun shone, glinting bright over her blonde hair and the greenery of Sanssouci. All should be right with the world, all that was them together, finally.
Yet it was not to be for long. Johann’s hands twitched. Temporary had never sat well with him.
“We must play a new game now. Higher stakes.” His eyes sought hers as he leaned closer. Her lips, stained a cherry red. “We do not want this Henry to interfere, ja? Let us meet him. Convince him.”
“Nein.” Aster gave a dramatic sigh, reaching past him for the cherry bowl. One she popped between his lips, another between hers. It was a long moment before the seed cleared her lips and she spoke again. “He is not exciting. We do not wish to see him.”
Wide, hazel eyes lifted from beneath dark lashes to look at him. This particular flavor of frenzy did not suit her, for it could not be halted by honey nor dispersed by royal will.
“You may do it.” Aster shrugged. “Kleinerschatzi and I wish to enjoy the sun.”
She leaned forward, dotting his lips with a kiss before she reclined back on the fountain’s edge, letting the sun fully cover her face. Aster sighed. “We tire, my darling. Henry of Stolberg-Wernigerode is tiring. We do not wish to speak of him any longer.” Kleinerschatzi sniffed around the edge of the fountain, his tail perked high in the air. “Entertain us.”
herr-herzog:
Johann saw white. Spineless coward, with no ability to think beyond the bounds of his own comfort. Spineless, yet dared to deny him.
Fingers dug into the fabric, scraping against the stitching. What he wanted was to take the verdammt mustachios and pull. See who said no then.
But Aster knew what he was thinking (natürlich). Interposed herself between him (heart-of-Aster) and the blubbering walrus from whom she descended (blood-of-Aster). Her voice, for so long heard only in his thoughts, like music to his ears.
“I did not.”
The Pomeranian’s golden fur looked far better against Aster’s own spun gold and translucence than that white mop of Basti’s ever did. Johann smiled.
“Ein Kleinerschatz für Hessens Schatz.” A little treasure for the treasure of Hesse. Of course they suited. Johann alone knew what Aster wanted, needed, was best.
His eyes hardened as they turned back to the wibbling man behind her.
“Eine Königin ist nur die Frau eines Königs. Only the wife of a king, ja.”
Maybe science would explain how Aster could have come from something like that.
“Aber jeder Prinz ist ein potenzieller König.”
Then, suddenly, he stood and clapped his hands.
“Who is the fortunate suitor for the daughter of Hesse? Who did meine Mutter, in her wisdom, select?”
Exasperation concealed by a polite smile. There was skill to being a courtier, dancing around the emotions one felt in favor of one’s sovereign. “Eure Hoheit.” The duke began again.
The prince was animated, dangerous. Cat-like in his grin, and a viper in his actions. Aster had always had an addled mind, too simple to be caught out by his whims.
“This is a family matter, yes? I would not presume to speak on behalf of the Queen.” Deferential above all else, the duke nodded.
“At their blessing, we agreed upon a match for my daughter and the Count. I would not dare to understand their intentions.”
A loud bang, the room exploding in sunlight. Aster and Kleinerschatzi escaped to the gardens.
---
“He is Henry of Stolberg-Wernigerode.” Aster plucked a cherry from the bowl and placed it in her mouth. A moment later, only the seed reappeared, discarded into the fountain. “He dances but little else.”
Kleinerschatzi sniffed around the edge of her skirt, her shoes discarded on the lawn. Aster reclined, staring up at the blue-blue-blue sky. Their conversation was scarce, undismissible chaperones lingering close.
“Did you like our game?” She asked abruptly. Her smile grew, little teeth appearing like pinpoints. “It was a punishment first, ja. We do not like to travel alone.”
A bob of her head, a little this and a little that.
“But then it was fun. A mystery! We find delight even in the darkness.”
herr-herzog:
There it was.
“Ah. So. Not mein Bruder.” Johann sat back, pleased. Nodded to himself, as if this was some new revelation. “But of course. He has been amusing himself with some English fraulein.”
He resumed tracing the patterns stitched on the seat. Before him the cup and the glass both stood untouched. Aster would be amused to see how the mustachios would twitch over the rims of each.
“And people with sense do not refuse a Prince.”
Aster. She would be close, he was sure of it. The crystal told him so.
Then, abruptly, Johann looked up. Smiled at the older, larger man across from him.
“Was hat dir meine Mutter dann erzählt? She says a great many things. She even carries out some of them.”
Kleinerschatz was now very intently investigating the foot of a particular set of drapes.
“Did you know, she said Aster would be married to me? Wie erwartet. As expected. Why else send a duke’s daughter as a prince’s companion so early.”
Looked away again, this time out the window.
“Prussia will not like having an Englishwoman queen, no matter how besotted der Kronprinz.” Those topiaries, the tops must go. Once he had found Aster again. “They will look to my bride instead, ja?”
Then looked back at the duke, any trace of amusement gone.
“This is exactly when meine Mutter… gave you instructions otherwise. As to your daughter’s hand. It is an amusing fact.”
“A-a-amusing? Amusing.” The duke seemed to find solid ground one moment, only to lose it the next. The curtains wriggled surreptitiously.
There were comments about this prinz; Prinz Johann. Reasons that he had agreed to send Aster, bright star, to the palace at such a young age. A temperamental disposition. Quick to rage like summer showers. Quicker still to frost, like the long winters that fell over the Rhone. He was a prinz, and thus to be respected. But Prinz Johann was not to be trusted.
“Your brother!” The duke skipped back a topic, a wide smile upon his face. “Er hat sein Match gefunden! Wir sind begeistert.“
In truth, he knew little and cared less about the kronprinz’s match, but it was a kind thing to say, and easy enough to parrot his wife’s opinion on the matter. “Die Engländer bringen seltsames Essen und faszinierende Traditionen mit. Wir werden mit dieser Ergänzung ziemlich modern sein.”
Another giggle. A wriggle. Aster’s presence was undeniable, though she stayed where she was told. She had always been gifted at following directions.
“Mein Prinz.“ The duke clasped his hands upon his desk, before gesturing widely. “Ich bin ein einfacher Mann. Ich bin nicht in Potsdam. Wenn Sie Antworten wünschen, muss ich Sie bitten, mit Seiner und Ihrer Majestät zu sprechen.” I am a simple man. I am not in Potsdam. Should you wish answers, I must implore you to speak with His and Her Majesty.
A tsk, sympathetic. “Was die Ehe meiner Tochter angeht, kann ich wenig tun.” As to my daughter's marriage, there is little that I can do.
Aster, of course, chose that moment to appear from behind the curtain, a lock of golden hair strewn across her forehead
“Es ist deine Schuld, mein Geliebter.” It is your fault, my beloved. Bending, she scooped Klienerschatz into her arms and bestowed a wide kiss. The game was not over, said the lift in her brow. The tilt of her smile said further: it has only begun. “You did not jump.”
herr-herzog:
Being back in Potsdam was a relief. The air. The language, no longer the strange nasally twang of die Englisch. The topiaries. There were two just outside the window, not yet toppled.
Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.
Johann lounged back against the brocaded seat. New upholstery. The Hesse (Hessians? blood-of-Aster was the only designation that mattered) must have renovated after the spring social whirl. Or maybe… anticipating additional social events.
His eyes narrowed.
Underfoot, Kleinerschatz’s progress around the room was marked by little tik-tik-tiks of paws on marble and wood.
“It is a good thing then, that I am not here for your daughter.”
The embroidery created barely raised patterns under his fingers. Johann did not reach for the offered refreshment on the table. Out of the corner of his eye, the puppy sniffed at a chair leg. Lost interest, abandoning it to investigate the draperies, chartreuse collar bright against the blue.
“I am here to ask: what father would refuse the hand of a prince?” He looked away, deliberately lingering over the chandeliers above. The crystal pendants scattered the light. The crystal under his shirt burned.
“I have just left mein Bruder, der Kronprinz. He was as yet unattached.”
He slowly looked back down at the man. Blood-of-Aster, yet so different. Plus ça change, plus c'est une chose différente.
“I commend your contacts, if you have heard of my brother’s engagement to your daughter before even me.”
“W-- W-- Wh--” It was the man’s turn to splutter indignantly, waving a fat-fingered hand around for a servant. Three appeared, their uniforms decked in Prussian blue trim, each with a different offering: tea in a saucer, wine in a glass, and a small footstool upon which to rest his feet. The duke accepted all three, then waved them away.
The man before him radiated princely intensity, the same that kept the duke so often away from the royal palace. The family had a reputation for such intensity, of course. It had been a sacrifice to send Aster, his fifth -- no, fourth -- daughter to them. Now she radiated it, too. Frenzied. Haphazard. Like a bullet on fire, drawing a new path.
"Eure Hoheit.“ He began again. “My -- I do not understand. How can this be? Der Kronprinz?”
The spluttering began again, wine-speckled this time.
“It is not -- the instruction that I received was not --”
The dog poked around at the corners, alighting on a pair of shoes. The person to whom they were connected gasped in delight, drowned out immediately by the slam of a fist upon the table.
“Das hat mir deine Mutter nicht erzählt!”
Aster/Johann or as a wildcard...🤔Aster/Archie
— SHIP QUESTIONS PRE-RELATIONSHIP
How did they first meet? Aster came to Potsdam when she was five and Johann was seven. They were introduced as playmates, and Aster assigned the role of companion. What was their first impression of each other? Aster first noticed Johann's eyes, and how they caught the sunlight like crystals. Did any of their friends or family want them to get together? Yes, all. Most. Who felt romantic feelings first? Falling in love with Johann was like a feather falling to the earth; it took time, but it would always happen. Aster cannot remember when she first felt for him for that reason. Did either of them try to resist their feelings? No. If you had told one of them that the other would be their soulmate, what would they think? "We know." What would their lives be like if they had never met? Not nearly as interesting, far more predictable. Aster would call it gray.
GENERAL Who initiated the relationship, and how did it go? Their parents. Rocky at first, with some fights and tears and tantrums (they were little!). Did they have an official first date? If so, what was it like? No. What was their first kiss like? Awkward and accidental and they both giggled afterward. Were they each other’s first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)? Yes. All of the above (at least for Aster). What’s their height difference? Age difference? Six inches, give or take. Less than a year. What’s their relationship with each other’s families? It was good?? Now it seems contentious. Who takes the lead in social situations? Johann. Who gets jealous easier? Neither, really. Johann? Aster rarely gets jealous, and they're unable to divide their beings into independent selves. It seems nonsensical to be jealous of yourself. Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear? Both. Often. Usually mean remarks of the others in the room.
LOVE Who said “I love you” first? Aster. What are their primary love languages? Physical touch. Quality time. Acts of service. Who uses cheesy pick-up lines? Neither, unless they are talking to Basti's ladies™. How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA? Daily, but only when alone. Who initiates kisses? Both. Who’s the big and little spoon? Aster is big spoon; it is important that Johann feels safe What are their favorite things to do together? Everything. They eat breakfast together, they read together, they ride together, they play games together. What is the point of being awake if they are not together? Who’s better at comforting the other? Aster, but only marginally. Neither is great at comfort. Who’s more protective? They both are, but in different ways. Johann's protection is more overt. Do they prefer verbal or physical affection? Honestly, both? They are very affirmative of each other and their relationship in their interactions. What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise? Lovefool, by the Cardigans. "I don't care about anything but you." What kind of nicknames do they call each other? Mein Herz. Schatz. Who remembers the little things? Both, or neither. There is no in-between. DOMESTIC LIFE If they get married, who proposes? Johann. What’s the wedding like? Who attends? Extravagant. Flowers and feathers. Mostly feathers. A thousand white doves. Aster and Johann as topiaries. Everyone attends. How many kids do they have, if any? What are they like? One? Who cares what it is like? Do they have any pets? Johann's pig. Aster's lovebirds. And SOON... a Schatzi of their very own. Who’s the stricter parent? Von Becker. Johann. Who worries the most? Neither. Johann Who kills the bugs in the house? Von Becker. How do they celebrate holidays? Extravatangly, either with all of their friends or only the other. There is a chocolate fountain in either scenario. Who’s more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning? Johann. Aster always bounces out of bed, delighted to meet the day. Who’s the better cook? What is cook? Who likes to dance? Aster does.
@herr-herzog
herr-herzog:
Es war einmal ein Prinz und sein Stern.
Johann woke every morning as if he had not slept (how could he have, when clearly she had not? when she was not there?).
In Elblag, he woke to the damp scent of moldy fabric that clung to him like cobwebs. The innkeeper was sent scouring the markets for the incense to burn it all away. Still, it lingered. Like loss. Johann ordered all the linens burned.
Aber eine grausame Königin nahm seinen Stern weg.
En route past Chojnice, the colonnades of tall, silent trees whispered overhead as they flew past below, blurs of color in the stark forest. Johann woke with the taste of salt on his lips, like from the sea-spray or tears.
In Walcz, he woke to the excited yapping of a ball of fluff so familiar that for a moment, he thought she would follow in its steps to scoop it up. The family to whom it belonged was obstinate, but the von Beckers prevailed in the end. Their loss was his gain. A kleiner Schatz for his actual Schatz.
Dennoch wurden Sterne geschaffen, um ihre Suchenden nach Hause zu führen.
They did not make it to Trzcianka. The crystal said so. Johann could see the line, shimmering bright, connecting him to a point deep through the woods. Connecting them. The line did not point in the direction of the town. The von Beckers were dismayed. Johann did not wake, because he did not sleep that night.
The precious strip of chartreuse he tied around Kleinerschatz’s neck.
Und jede Nacht schaute der Prinz auf, um seinem Stern zu folgen.
In Rüdersdorf, he woke to the scent of lavender. The rest of the day was spent slogging through rain and coppery-tinged mud, until at the end, he could not tell his own guard from that of the returning soldiers. All hunched and worn down by the weight of the downpour.
Kleinerschatz did not appreciate the scented soap, but it was only a matter of time. Johann would settle for no less. His own skin bore streaks of copper, but better yet: Aster’s favoured scent.
Bis eines Tages der Prinz vor den Burgtoren ankam bereit zum Krieg.
Johann stood at the Sanssouci gates and laughed. And laughed, and laughed, until Kleinerschatz slipped through his arms. For was this not the game Mother and Father played? Round and round and round, test after test after test. Only to end up where it all began.
And yet, the first note he received upon his return was not from Aster, but about Aster. (The note was delighted to inform him of our Daughter’s upcoming marriage…)
Forget the carriage. The entourage. The endlessly faceless yet functional von Beckers. Johann picked the fastest horse and stormed out of the gates through which he had just arrived. Pedestrians shrieked as the hooves thundered, and it was still not-enough: not fast enough, not quick enough, not cunning enough to see it coming.
“Fetch the duke of Hesse. His prince summons him.”
The servant bowed and scurried.
Denn niemand kann einen Stern lange gefangen halten.
Papa had gotten fat. Fat-ter. Aster watched him with a tilt in her head from the corner of the ballroom as he puffed around, the ends of his moustache curled up like the tails on two tiny dogs. The way the light hit her skin must have been alluring, as her companion tugged her arm for attention. “Tanzen Sie gerne?” Henry of Stolberg-Wernigerode had a rolling voice, not unlike his name. Do you dance? Aster’s attention did not wander, still fixed upon her father’s tiny tails. Her mind clicked tiny gears into motion.
“Nein.”
Count Henry hesitated, already one step closer to the ballroom floor. Flustered: “Was? Sie nicht? Wieso den?”
Aster only shrugged, finding him uninteresting enough to ignore. They were to be married, papa said. Papa was wrong.
---
Count Henry was palatable. He enjoyed jokes and dogs and riding in the sunshine, and Aster enjoyed those things too. When they walked through the woods, she commented on the shape of a particular leaf, or the style of a tree, and how she would transform a topiary to match. He seemed confused by the statement, but offered that Stolberg had many nice trees that she could admire. Aster did not understand when she would ever bother to see Stolberg, but he seemed so excited. Perhaps she and Johann would visit one day.
---
“Ich freue mich, dich zu heiraten.“ Henry confessed one night, as they drank wine. I am happy to marry you.
“Nein.” Said Aster.
At least this time, he ignored her.
---
“Papa!” Clickity-clack, clickity-clack. Her shoes clicked on the cobblestone. Resplendent in several shades of pink, Aster caught up to her father and made him jump. Papa was a tense man.
“Sie sagen, der Prinz wird bald eintreffen.” They say the prince will arrive soon. Aster continued as though nothing was wrong. “Wann? Wann?” When?
Papa sighed. “Sie müssen sich keine Sorgen machen, Aster.” You don't have to worry.
A scoff, as light as the egg-whip on her parfait, fell from her lips. “Papa.” Aster corrected. Her smile never faltered, never faded. The game was delightful as long as she was in the daylight. Her prince was out there. He would find the clues. He would know. “Er ist mein Herz. Ich möchte wissen, wo mein Herz ist.” He is my heart. I must know where my heart is.
“Nein.” Said papa. “Du darfst nicht so sprechen.” You are not allowed to speak like that.
---
“Ah, Eure Hoheit.” The Duke of Hesse made an elaborate, if stiff bow. “What brings you to me?”
The river glinted outside his windows, tall and narrow, gilded in blue silk. Far in the distance, the whispers of happy children carried out across the estate. The House of Hesse was a happy one, with happy children.
He asked a question with an obvious answer, but he asked it with instruction. Motioning for the prince to sit, the duke did as well. “Your objections should be taken up with your mother, Your Highness.”
Hazel eyes peeked out from behind one of the blue silk curtains, the rest of her form hidden. A giggle stifled.
“My daughter is not here.”
herr-herzog:
>> July 1799. 2 days without Aster, Dover
“Mein Prinz, bitte.”
A violent gesture silenced the man. Johann did not usually do this, but Aster did, and what Aster did was done by them both.
Still. Was it too much to ask for some quiet to focus?
The crystal shimmered at the end of the chain, the pale English light turning it milky as it swayed. Once, twice, and Johann snatched it back up. Hand already flung out, imperious, towards one of the vessels in port.
“That one.”
“Mein Prinz, but we have already secured a…”
“That. One.”
He pressed a kiss to the crystal before slipping it back over his head, next to his heart.
___________
>> July 1799. 3 days without Aster, North Sea
Johann felt as if his very soul was leaving him. His body, a mere husk. The ship pitched and he heaved with it.
The crystal stayed cool against his feverish skin, pulsing with Aster’s heartbeat.
____________
>> July 1799. 7 days without Aster, Aalborg
“…They will still be at sea, mein Prinz, and will not be receiving the mail en route…”
Johann ignored the twittering, ripped another piece of paper, scribbling furiously. Ink splattered and dotted the sawdust on the wooden decking. The ship swayed; his pen slashed.
Aster, my home, my heart, this will find you as I will find you
The von Beckers faded away.
He rolled up the strip of paper, tucked it into the bottle, stoppered it. Wavered as he made his way over to the edge. Cocked an arm back, and hurled it into the waves, watching as the gray-green-turquoise capped with white swallowed it whole.
Stomped back to his spot, where he unstoppered another bottle and took a deep drink.
He needed to write another letter.
______________
>> ????. 10 days without Aster, Helsingborg
“– is he – must make port –”
“Nein!” he howled, slamming a hand for emphasis against something. The something gave with a grunt. “We sail until Königsberg!”
“ – burning up – mad – Gott in heaven –”
The von Beckers faded in and out of his vision. Sometimes it was Mother. Sometimes it was Basti. But it always came back to Aster, Aster, Aster.
Aster, who welcomed him when the night finally fell and the voices became silent.
______________
>> ??? 1799. ?? days without Aster, Danzig
Johann sat up, the world as clear and sharp as if etched in glass. Crystal chimed in the light around him. It was day. How many days without Aster?
“Das ist nicht Königsberg.”
“Nein, mein Prinz.”
This was the original von Becker then, who knew better than to offer unnecessary excuse or explanation.
He flung out a hand. Von Becker put paper in it.
…find you as you will find me. Our feet are on the same earth now, we know this
“Horses?”
“Natürlich, mein Prinz.”
Crease and crease and crease, with the peculiar tie-off at the end. He pressed a kiss to it. Blessed it with the crystal, now clear and tinged with a pale blue. Pale blue of the Prussian skies, of the skies of his heart, in the eyes of his Aster.
“Gut. We will eat on the way.”
__________________
>> July 1799. 17 days without Aster, Königsberg
Johann did not need the crystal to tell him where his heart would have gone. He knew the steps as if he had taken them himself.
Fingers trailed along the line of posts on the side of the dock. Eyes closed. Against his chest, the crystal burned: yes yes yes.
Touched against cool porcelain. Eyes opened, fingers hungrily wiping away the accumulated soot.
Pressed reverent fingers against the heart.
Behind him, the newest von Becker had been about to approach. The veterans barred him from disturbing his moment, but too late. The voice was still high, carrying:
…Elblag is the next carriage change
“Elblag. To horse, jetzt!”
That night, another letter: stall them as hard as you can, I have our cat, we are coming, we are coming
Clickity-clack, clickity-clack. Mother’s fingernails were tapping again.
The carriage had a strange smell in the corners, a sort of swept-away rot that permeated the plush interior. Aster buried her nose in the soft fur of her collar, staring over the fringe out the window.
There were so many trees. All tall, all spindly. More tree than branch, and what leaves they had skittered to the floor in amber needles. Vines and weeds cropped up where the sunlight hit. She saw a brown mouse scurry into the underbrush.
Clickity-clack. Clickity-clack.
There were no words left between them. It tortured Aster, who so liked to perform and charm and delight. The journey derailed her. She longed for sleep, the sort only found in her own bed, where the pillow smelled of lavender and rose, and the fire was always lit, even in the summertime.
A bend in the road. “Stop.”
Clickit--
“Mutter.” Aster revised. “Mein Bein hat einen Krampf.”
Clickity-clack, clickity-clack. The carriage wheels were like Mother’s fingernails, rolling on the road. She walked alongside them as they curved the bend, Mother’s beady eyes never leaving her face. The road was narrow, barely a hand-space of wheel track before the path was given over to grass, again. Aster’s dress caught on a stray branch.
She stopped to fix it, and tore it hard, leaving a wisp of bright chartreuse tacked against tree bark.
“Mutter!” Three steps to catch up to the carriage, another twelve for it to come to a halt. Aster returned.
---
A room in the tallest house on Herren Strase Elbing, Prussia
Johann.
She stopped. Struck it out.
My Johann.
The motion repeated.
My heart.
Mutter and I have traveled for many days. Red dirt comes through my boots and changes the color of my feet. They are not pretty any longer, but they will be again. We will be again. We go to Potsdam, I think. Mutter does not share her plans. Or her bread. She does not like me, my dearest love. Our Mutter does not care for me. She does this for you.
I leave you lavender soap to wash your feet. The red dirt will not come off. Do not worry. We will fix it in Sansoucci.
I must sleep. I cannot sleep. I wish for winter, and the crisp bark in the air. We shall catch snow on our tongues and laugh.
Yours, always, forever -- A
Fingers pushed it into a soft space between the bricks beside the fireplace, the round of lavender soap bound in linen and twine.
Mother woke early. She always did.
